


Fairytale of New York

by nomoretears24



Series: Exploring [4]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Love, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomoretears24/pseuds/nomoretears24
Summary: Christmas Time! Mistletoe and Wine!It's Christmas time at Waystar Royco, with Gerri and Roman continuing their secret relationship, trying to figure out how to handle Christmas and everything that comes with it. Time for a work Christmas Party and more!
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Series: Exploring [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991920
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	1. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

Things had been better after Hawaii.

Roman’s CT scan had revealed no lasting damage, his brain functioning normally.

Well… as normal as it previously functioned.

He had been a little disoriented in the few days after, his memory of the event eventually coming back; shockingly taking the accident in his stride. More worried about the bump in his nose; vanity consuming him much to her dismay since she was the one who had to hear about it every single fucking day and night.

He had had to stay in for observation, Gerri unable to stay behind with him, having to leave on the Tuesday alongside everyone else, already having delayed their return by a day and unable to do so any longer. Not having the liberty of explaining away to everyone, including Logan, why she was too anxious to leave him so should stay behind.

She had incessantly worried the whole time. Had texted him the constantly, phoned him at night, spent hours telling him about her day, listening to him tell her the drivel he had been reading on his phone to cure his boredom.

She had also finally got a little clarity on her being his Power of Attorney in those conversations. He had aptly described her as “the most fucking with it person he knew.” Roman always having a way with words. It had turned out that Logan had always been his POA, Roman’s trust and uncertainty in his dad wavering after Austria after Boar on the Floor. He doesn’t deny that he found Boar on the Floor funny as fuck, but it was funny because it was fucking bizarre, and that was why he was unsure if his dad would make a good POA choice when it came down to making any important decisions regarding him. He needed a replacement, and the closer he and Gerri had become, and the moment he realised he was willing to jump into shitty management training because he trusted her judgement that implicitly, it had just made sense. She was a lawyer, she always made careful rational decisions her whole life, and he had trusted her more than anyone to do just that. He definitely trusted her more than his siblings, his mom, his dad, even Tabitha, to make an intelligent decision with all the facts, that wouldn’t just be an instant DNR so someone else was a step closer to the throne. Actually, quite fucking mature on his part when she considered his rationale.

He had been released on the Friday, had been directed straight to his apartment; his siblings and father waiting from him when he had returned, much to his surprise.

He had been tired, uninterested in entertaining them; Gerri showing up late after they had left, spending the night barely sleeping, watching his breathing as he slept, waking up with every sound and movement.

Their relationship had changed drastically after that. They had grown even closer if that was possible. Something had switched within her. She had felt an affinity to keep him close by her; her instinctual need to protect and care for him seemed never ending. She had become more enthusiastic to see him, initiating it more, planning more evenings together, with Roman finally making it into her apartment. He had handled it exactly how she would had imagined. He had called her out immediately when she was unable to answer his countless questions about several choice pieces as he had fiddled with them; who the artist of the painting was, where the ornate lamp had been purchased, what the fuck the weird sculpture was trying to depict. She had been forced to admit that she had hired someone to decorate the whole thing much to his delight, only a few distinct pieces making the cut from her house with Baird into this apartment five years ago. He had even got a good few jokes about what he now referred to as her boomer TV. It was only a few years old, she had got it when she moved in and it worked perfectly well, and yet he would consistently ridicule it; asking her to turn the knob on it to turn up the volume, wowing randomly when she would turn it on pretending he was shocked that it wasn’t in black and white, asking when she was thinking of donating it to the New York Historical Society. He hadn’t disappointed.

They had also been instigating more late-night work meetings with Karolina at Gerri’s apartment mainly, Frank getting on board sometimes as well.

Gerri had expected more push back from them all; more judgemental stares, more little comments, however, they acted as though it was normal. Cyd making the odd gentle jibe to her, teasing her, though she had eventually privately revealed to Gerri her genuine happiness for them both. It hadn’t stopped Cyd from bantering with Roman behind closed doors though. He had been quipping right back, berating her toy boy husband (he was ten years younger but that’s not the point), pestering her by calling her a dominatrix, the accusations of what she got up to with her man becoming more profane each time they engaged in a banter battle, both of them determined to win the war. Gerri kept out of it, Roman could more than fend for himself in a battle of wits.

They had made the executive decision to bring Frank in more on the plan against Logan. She had been keeping him at a distance, not filling him in on all the details of everything she had planned, only using him for the Karl aspect; too afraid of the potential betrayal. But his words had been impactful on her in the hospital waiting room; her realisation of how she had been too harsh on him, too guarded, when he was one of the few people who she had trusted most over the years. He had been in full agreement that Logan was too far gone into a spiral of madness to pull it back, his behaviour hellbent on sinking the company they had all worked so hard for. Frank and Gerri had always been on the same wavelength; she didn’t know why she thought he would think any different about this. He had offered even more services, helped them scheme more, used his contacts to find out any information about when this whole criminal trial was likely to come about; soon after New Year being the most he discovered. He had been involved more in their late-night scheming, a massively important contributor in their strategy; no one knowing Logan better than he.

****

Christmas was approaching now; the festive feeling filling them both as they had continued with their various projects in work.

The snow had covered the city in the past week, creating the perfect setting for romanticism, but the worst setting for a practical Gerri who often saw it as a fucking nightmare obstacle of getting her into work within a reasonable amount of time. There had been buzzing around the office for the past week in anticipation of the Christmas party tomorrow night, his interest swaying more into unsuccessfully trying to persuade her into enjoying New York City at Christmas time, doing the whole shopping shit, going to see the tree at the Rockefeller Centre, ice skating in Central Park. It was too dangerous, she had determined. There were too many people who could spot them. New York City was so big and yet so small for seeing people you recognised everywhere you went, paparazzi everywhere just waiting for an opportunity, their spending time together like that not so easily explained away. She had opted into watching Christmas movies with him instead, _A Muppet Christmas Carol, Scrooged, Elf,_ and _Bad Santa_ being the movies she had been roped into so far.

It was nearly 9pm when she had arrived back to her apartment, the snow holding them up in traffic, the journey taking twice as long as it should have. She finally kicks her shoes off, a martini in hand, her second leg just propped up onto her coffee table when he calls.

“Hey,” she puffs down the phone as she takes a sip of her martini, putting it back on the coffee table and reaching for her TV remote.

“Hey. What’s the hip hap?” He groans, sounding as if he’s stretching on the other end of the phone.

“The hip hap is that I just got home when I left the office 45 minutes ago because of that fucking snow. I’m honestly fucking over it,” she seethes as she turns on the tv, the news automatically coming up as the last thing she had put on, muting it quickly so she can hear him, only interesting in having a look at the headlines as they chatted.

“Was that my favourite antique I just heard?” He laughs.

“Fuck off,” she growls, picking up her martini again.

“I know the snow’s annoying but it’s CHRISTMAS!” He shouts excitedly with a giggle. “SNOW AT CHRISTMAS!” He shouts louder, as she smirks putting her drink down on the coffee table again. “I hope it’s still here Christmas Day. Maybe I can convince Shiv to snowball fight with me. Wambsgans would do it,” he reasons, groaning a little as he lies on the couch awkwardly, trying to strain his head look around to his TV to play his PS5, pausing the game and throwing the controller onto the couch next to him as he sits up.

“Why are you groaning?” She asks with a frown.

“Playing the PS5 on his fucking couch. I swear to fuck there’s no comfortable way to sit when you play it,” he moans.

“You moan about this nearly every day. Move it into the bedroom,” she instructs with a sigh.

“I can’t see it from that distance! It would be all the way across the room. How the fuck am I supposed to see when a zombie jumps out on me. I would be dead in seconds,” he complains, as though it were obvious.

She sighs, reading the headlines, watching the presenter’s lips move, trying to figure out if she can lip read any of it, maybe figure out how to get the subtitles on.

“Enough about my cricked neck,” he sighs. “What you wearing tomorrow night? Something soul destroying?” He teases.

“It’s a surprise,” she smiles, putting the phone on loudspeaker, settling it on her chest as she lies her head back against the couch.

“Stop being a fucking tease. Tell me. No, let me guess. All fucking thighs and cleavage. Sexy Mrs Claus outfit. Red velvet with white feather trimming,” he clowns, waiting for the inevitable banter she’s about to fire back.

“Yeah. Got it in one,” she deadpans. “No underwear at all. Give Santa an eyeful when I sit on his knee.”

“Wait… wait… Santa’s going to fucking be there?” He asks with his mouth lying open.

“I think so. That’s what Karolina told me today,” she sighs.

“Now I’m psyched,” he says seriously, as she chuckles.

“You going to sit on his knee? Tell him what you want for Christmas?” She laughs, moving to pick up her drink again, taking a sip.

“I’m going to lie across his lap, get a photo with him, put him a choke hold, and not let go until he reveals the location of his fucking workshop.”

“I don’t think a choke holds at a work Christmas party is the way to go about it,” she nods, smiling.

“Hmm. I’ll see how I feel. Will bring my nipple clamps in case the choke hold doesn’t work.”

“Good god.”

“You still sure I can’t convince you to come home with me after?”

“No. Eyes will be everywhere, watching who goes home with who. Too risky,” she shoots him down.

“What if… and stay with me here… what if I went home myself and then walked it to your apartment?”

“It’s twenty blocks, and there’s six inches of snow!” She protests.

“Like I care. I could hang out by the dumpsters in the courtyard until the coast is clear, sneak in the back door, up the back stairwell. Just give me your key and I’ll let myself in, so no one sees me,” he pitches, waiting for her thoughts.

“You want a key to my apartment?” She asks challengingly.

“I mean I’d give it back… unless you want to give me one,” he ventures, eyes darting about wildly.

**He had genuinely only meant to get in quickly and give it back to her, but if she at that point, he’d fucking take it.**

“Hmm, how do I know you wouldn’t sneak in when I wasn’t there. Sniff my panties, move my shit around, and ejaculate over my most prized possessions?” She jokes, evading it until she can give it some consideration.

_I mean it was just a key. What was the harm? Everything had already progressed at pace._

“Okay. Number one, don’t underestimate me, I would ejaculate on your interior designer chosen shit when you were at home. Number two, I swapped your candle and the ornament on the table behind your couch a week ago and I bet you still haven’t noticed,” he continues as she turns around swiftly noticing the change instantly, huffing at being swindled. “And number three, I’m your most prized possession and don’t you fucking forget it,” he chuckles as he hears her intake of breath.

“You little creep. Don’t move my shit around,” she scolds him laughing.

“See? You didn’t even notice,” he prods.

“That’s not the point,” she declares strongly.

“I’ve moved loads of shit about. I was thinking one day I would set up a little treasure hunt for you. Lead you all the way to a new vibrator with a cut out of my head on the tip,” he laughs. “Or you can have the cardboard cut out of me. Karolina still has it in a closet somewhere. I was considering putting it in the Waystar foyer but you can have it if you want,” he taunts her.

“I’m good thanks,” she deadpans.

“Look you’re getting off topic here. Tomorrow night. Let me come up. I’ll come in disguise. Will even dress as Santa so no one recognises me. Hell, I’ll even dress up as that stupid fucking Turkey if you want. I think your neighbours would love to meet me in the elevator if I’m honest.”

She laughs at the thought.

“Why are you so incessant on this anyway?”

“Because I know you’re gonna be hot as fuck. Your gonna fuck me with your eyes all night and your little fucking smirk that you know drives me crazy because you’re a teasing little nympho, Kellman,” he jokes as she smiles.

_That’s exactly what she did do. Half the fun is that he knew she was goading him._

“And we’ll both have had a few drinks in us which makes me want you even more. Even you want it more when you’ve had a drink. Don’t deny it,” he challenges her as she laughs again. “I want to be with you all the time anyway. Why not tomorrow night too?” He reasons.

She hums, taunting him a little longer, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll get the Santa suit just in case,” he declares confidently.

“You do that,” she laughs. “You’re coming here on Wednesday anyway. Can’t you be a good little boy and wait?”

“That’s five whole fucking days away from now!”

“I know but it will be even more special. Imagine it. Our own little Christmas before I need to go to Massachusetts the next day. We have dinner, watch whatever Christmas movies you’ve picked out this time, exchange our gifts. Then imagine how much better it would be if we hadn’t had sex in so long, how desperate we’ll be for it,” she smiles, her voice seductive.

“Okay. You clearly don’t know me, Gerri. First off, if I wait that long you can guarantee you’re getting jumped as soon as I cross that threshold, long before dinner or gifts or whatever you have planned. Second off, you hugely underestimate how often I want you. I’d want to jump you whether it was after six days or six hours.”

“It will have been eleven days by that point actually. You were here Saturday.”

“Exactly and we’re already at six days now. You’re lucky I didn’t jump you in your office this morning!”

She laughs again, fiddling with the pearls at her neck, still flattered by his desire.

“This is going nowhere. I’ll think about it. Now tell me what Christmas movies you’ve picked for Wednesday night. I know you reserve your Home Alone’s for Christmas Eve.”

“But you’re going to call me Christmas Eve from the hotel to watch them, right? When you get back from Maddie’s?”

“Yeah, but I’m telling you. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Might be late.”

“I’ll wait. I don’t care. I was thinking the Grinch and It’s a Wonderful Life for Wednesday. The fact that you haven’t seen Jim Carey’s comic genius in it is a fucking travesty. It was an Oscar worthy performance.”

“I know, I know. We’ve been through this.”

“It bears repeating, Geraldine!” He chides loudly, basically hearing her eye roll through the phone.

_He’d started calling her this a week ago. She’d warned him to stop to no avail, it had only encouraged him on. She was hoping that by ignoring it, just like a child, he would become bored._

The line becomes silent as he smiles at his use of her full name, as she reads the headlines on the tv.

“I hate that I won’t see you on Christmas day,” he complains quietly.

“I know, but I’ll call you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know, but it’s something.”

“You know what would make it easier?” He asks hopefully.

“What?” She breaths.

“If you let me come over tomorrow night to strip you out of your Christmas dress and fuck you silly,” he says sweetly.

“You just never stop, do you?” She laughs. “When are you going to stop being so infatuated with me?”

“Never,” he promises.

****

The Christmas Party is at Pier Sixty, over 200 members of staff expected, all of their partners invited, black tie, all expenses paid.

His idea of fucking hell, if it weren’t for the fact he had a few tricks up his sleeve and she was going to be there.

He heads directly for the guy with the champagne, noting Shiv was here with Tom; an unusual appearance if there ever was one.

“What up fuckers? How’s it going?” He greets them kindly as Shiv raises her eyebrows.

“Not bad,” Shiv smirks. “What about you?”

“Meh. So, so. Only here to see Santa,” he snarls, looking around the room to figure out who was here.

“You still trying to crack the code of his workshop?” She laughs as Tom watches, completely confused.

“Obviously,” Roman scoffs, downing half his glass.

“Roman is convinced that Santa’s workshop is actually in Scotland. He’s theorised he lives in the Highlands,” she laughs, taking in Tom’s confused expression.

“Scotland?” Tom asks.

“Yeah. I went up there when I was in military school to try and find him. Looked fishy. Reindeers. Snow. Lots of trees up there for his workshop. And the Scots are like elves too. They’re so small because they smoke and drink by the time they’re like 12. Stunts their growth,” Roman shrugs.

“Makes sense,” Shiv laughs.

“But Santa doesn’t exist,” Tom says quietly, looking at them as though they were fucking crazy.

“Wash your mouth out!” Roman shouts offended as Shiv’s mouth lies agape looking at Tom.

“You can’t just go about saying things like that, Tom,” Shiv scolds him.

“And at this most sacred time of year. Get your husband under control,” Roman looks at Tom disgusted then over to Shiv.

“I’m sorry,” Tom offers, his eyes wide and confused.

“I can’t even look at you,” Roman spits, walking away from them with a smirk.

“Now you’ve done it,” Shiv chides Tom.

Gerri arrives not long after Roman, spotting him in the crowd instantly, catching Karolina first to make sure everything is underway. That the food is still being served at 7pm on the dot, that the DJ is here, that Santa arrived and wasn’t fucking drunk or something, ready to set up in the reception area when they were having dinner.

Karolina leads her into the room as Gerri nods to people, saying hi to them on her journey.

The room is mesmerising. A complete Winter Wonderland. A large decorated Christmas tree on the edge of the dancefloor, a huge jewelled chandelier above it, crystal snowflakes hanging all around the room, mistletoe above the doors (bound to cause some kind of issue as the night goes on), ornate red flowers enhancing each table. They’ve outdone themselves; it looks beautiful.

The doors open to the dining area once Gerri gives her go ahead, finally able to have a chance to bump into Roman as he tries to hide his awe.

“You look dashing,” she offers with a smirk as they make their way towards Table One where she knows their name cards have been placed together.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her seriously.

_She had hoped he would like it. Had opted to put her hair up, her contacts in, her Valentino satin floor length dress champagne coloured, unfortunately for him with a high neckline her arms covered and her underwear on. But her jewellery was sparkling, her makeup done by a professional for once; beautiful additions making the whole thing work._

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly over her shoulder at him.

“By the way, me and Shiv have a thing, convincing Wambsgans we still believe in Santa. Trying to convince him that I believe he lives in Scotland. So, go with it if he brings it up,” he deadpans as she reaches the table, shaking her head with a smirk, looking for her name card as he pulls her chair out for her, moves to pull out Karolina’s on his other side too. Cyd standing with a quirked eyebrow on the opposite side of the table, waiting for him to do the same as he runs around the table, her husband already sat reaching for a bread roll.

Dinner is actually more fun than usual. Roman and Gerri, Frank and his girlfriend Amy, Cyd and her husband Harrison, Karolina and her husband Ollie, Joan and her husband Ritchie, Tom and Shiv, and Larry and his wife Joyce. The best thing about being in charge was that you got to pick your table. Well most of it. At least Ray was on a completely different fucking table.

There was only one hairy moment when Shiv had tried to be the little cunt he knew her to be.

“You didn’t bring a date, Rome? Ken said you had a girlfriend now,” she challenges.

**He knows she’s trying to embarrass him, though she has some CHEEK to, considering the state of her fucking train wreck of a marriage.**

The whole tables eyes go to him; four other sets of eyes darting to Gerri also.

“No girlfriend,” he clears his throat. “And Gerri’s my date anyway, aren’t you Gerri?” He smiles as Gerri rolls her eyes for good measure. “Said I could maybe go home with her tonight.”

“Just because we’re the only two people at the table not in a couple, doesn’t mean I’m your date,” she retorts impassively, stealthily raising a glass of white wine to her lips to take a sip.

“That’s not what you said last night,” he quirks.

“No,” she starts after she swallows. “I believe I said something like don’t eat things off the office floor Roman and get back to work,” she smiles looking around to him as the table starts laughing.

“You don’t have a date either, Gerri?” Shiv stirs with a smirk, as Gerri looks back around to her, her expression impassive.

“Being a CEO and steering a Fortune 500 out of degradation puts a bit of a hiatus on your social life, I’m afraid. And anyway, apparently your brothers my date,” she raises her eyebrows challengingly, lifting the wine back to her lips as Karolina tries to hide a smirk behind her clasped hands in front of her mouth, whilst Roman gives Shiv a shit eating grin.

“On a date with the CEO,” he brags, holding up his glass of wine and offering everyone a cheers, especially a sceptical looking Shiv, before taking a huge gulp of wine.

“You could do worse, Gerri,” Joan offers smiling at Gerri, trying to lighten the tone.

“You could do better,” Cyd gruffs as everyone laughs.

“Hey,” Roman points at Cyd seriously. “You sang karaoke for me. Don’t make me jump on that stage, grab a microphone, and tell everyone in this room that the Peach doesn’t have a complete little Grinchy heart,” he threatens with a grin.

“It was a ploy to get a fat Christmas bonus,” she smiles sarcastically.

“Okay, Johnny Cash. Simmer down,” he laughs.

The rest of the dinner passed in the same banterful tone, no one escaping a ribbing; Tom getting it the hardest with Cyd being as savage as usual.

**He loves Cyd.**

Gerri is invited up to the stage after the dinner concludes, spouting the same spiel as his father had every other year. The company had a great year; it was thriving thanks to all your hard work, looking forward to an even better year next year, yada yada yada. However, he doesn’t know if it’s because he thinks everything that comes out of Gerri’s mouth sounds swell or if she sounds more convincing, more sincere. More genuinely thankful for them all, more humbled that she’s in the position she’s in, more reflective of the difficult year they had all suffered, more inspiring about the year ahead. She gets a huge round of applause after, he standing on his feet and whooping her; maybe it’s not just him mesmerised by her.

The music starts up after that, beginning with some Christmas classics; many flooding to the dancefloor as he shimmies to the bar, ordering himself a hefty scotch, the wine and champagne already working wonders on him.

He finds Gerri by his side eventually, ordering her a white wine as she smiles kindly.

“How did I do?” She asks him nervously.

“Great. It came across much better than the previous years,” he bolsters.

“Really? I always hated the inevitable Logan speech. Had to try and avoid an eye roll. It’s hard to say all the same things each year and have people believe you,” she shrugs, thanking the bartender for the drink before sipping it. “What was the deal with the Shiv thing by the way?”

“She’s a boot. What more can I say?” He shrugs, turning around to watch as everyone bops to _Feliz Navidad._

“I tried to be unsuspecting,” she smiles, as he looks around the whole ball room narrowing his eyes. “What are you looking for?” She asks looking around also.

“Okay. Elephant in the fucking ball room. Where the fuck is Santa?” He asks seriously.

She laughs, nodding her head for him to follow her back to the reception area.

When he walks into it, he’s met with an even crazier fucking winter wonderland, a full fucking grotto more or less before him, a guy and a girl elf cheerily greeting and waving at people as though they were all five year olds, fake snow falling as a third elf takes a picture. Santa is right in the centre on a huge fucking throne made of fucking gold as Joan splays across his lap, clearly already drunk, holding a mistletoe above his head, trying to convince Santa to kiss her as he strains his neck away from her, poor Ritchie laughing on the side lines, trying to encourage Joan off the poor dudes lap.

“Fat boy’s here,” Roman whispers deviously, tittering as he looks at the huge queue, noting Tom out of the corner of his eye. “Perfect.”

“What are you-,” Gerri goes to ask before he starts striding towards the girl elf, she following in complete curiosity.

“Excuse me,” he declares. “We have to skip the queue. I have a very demanding CEO here whose time is too precious to wait in a queue.”

“It’s not-,” Gerri goes to protest as he interrupts.

“Come on, Joan. Up you get,” Roman walks directly up to them, Joan giggling as she stands up and throws her hands around Roman’s neck pulling him into a big hug.

“You’re a good boy,” Joan declares slurring, slapping his face a little too hard a few times as Gerri stifles a laugh over his shoulder, Ritchie prying Joan off of him.

“Come on, honey,” Ritchie smiles awkwardly, as though this is a common occurrence. “Let’s get you some water.”

Roman finally looks down at Santa smiling. The guy has to be in his 50’s, his wrinkles definitely real though the rest of the get up is completely fake.

“Thanks man,” Santa gruffs to Roman, adjusting his beard. “She would not get off,” he laughs.

Roman narrows his eyes.

“I have our CEO here,” he declares, gesturing back to Gerri.

“Ho Ho, hoooo, what do we have here? The infamous CEO?” Santa declares deeply holding his arms out, a weird hint of flirtation, as she smiles awkwardly. Santa pats his knee suggestively, “you want to sit on Santa’s lap little girl?”

Roman grimaces, looking down at the Santa, ready to punch him across the face.

“No, thank you,” she smiles, moving to stand next to him as Roman grins widely.

“I will!” He shouts, jumping onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, being held as though he’s a baby, Gerri stifling another laugh as the queue of people start roaring.

The Santa falters, adjusting to Roman’s weight across him.

“Are we going to get a photo?” Santa huffs, trying to adjust his knees, hoping to move this along but Roman has other thoughts.

“Wait, isn’t this the part where I tell you what I want for Christmas?” Roman asks sweetly.

“Sure,” the Santa strains, trying to smile.

“Okay. I’ve thought long and hard and I want a PS5 controller, a sex swing, one of those big fuck off jars of marshmallows, a bike, anal beads, and a trampoline,” he finishes with a grin. “Oh, and world peace,” he adds smiling even wider as Gerri shakes her head, looking down at him.

The Santa looks at him with wide eyes completely horrified.

“Are we ready?” The elf with the camera asks smiling.

“Yes,” Gerri smirks, turning towards the camera, standing next to the fucking throne.

“Smile!” The elf shouts as Roman clings onto Santa tighter, grinning like a child as he poses, looking back around to Gerri with a smirk when the photo was taken.

“Okay, thank you. Have a good Christmas,” the Santa tries to encourage Roman off his lap.

“One more thing,” Roman declares as Gerri begins walking away, stopping next to the elf when she realises Roman isn’t following. “You can tell me. Your workshop. It’s in Scotland, right?”

“What?” The Santa asks.

“Shiv!” Roman shouts loudly, beckoning her over as Tom follows. “Santa,” he affirms. “He’s from the Scottish Highlands, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiv states obviously.

“What are you all talking about?” Santa asks incredulously. “I’m from the North Pole,” he coughs.

“I know your game,” Roman points at him sceptically. “Telling us the North Pole so we don’t find your workshop.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom tries to clean up quickly. “They think,” he laughs nervously. “They think Santa’s real and he’s from Scotland?” He grimaces awkwardly, trying to laugh through it as Santa looks at them as though they were all wild.

“Santa is real!” Roman declares seriously. “This is Santa!” He shouts indignantly, as the whole queue starts cracking up.

“You need to stop with this whole Santa isn’t real thing, Tom. You’re upsetting Roman,” Shiv backs up, placing a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Gerri!” Roman looks to her. “Isn’t Santa’s workshop actually in Scotland?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs obviously. “I thought everyone knew that. It’s a ploy to say the North Pole because it’s too cold for people to go and find it. Whereas people go to Scotland all the time and could easily walk in on it. It’s thought that’s where St. Nicholas did the last of his pilgrimage and then he just… disappeared,” she tells them deadpan as both Tom and Santa look at her astounded.

“Come on,” Roman grabs her elbow. “I can’t be around this idiot. Bye Santa!” He shouts enthusiastically as he leads Gerri back into the main room. “How the fuck did you come up with that so quickly?” He laughs.

“You must be rubbing off on me,” she smiles.

****

“Hey Roman,” Tom shouts, surrounded by a group of ATN worst cunts, Roman sleeking up to them reticently. Tom begins laughing as everyone else sniggers. “I was telling them about Gerri’s karaoke rock chick thing. How she was like fucking whipping her hair back and forth with this gruff voice. They don’t believe she would. Tell them.”

 **He can feel his blood boiling. All of them standing here making fun of her. He could punch Wambsgans in the face, instead he has another plan**.

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking cool. She just like channelled Debbie Harry man. Brought me to my knees. It was hot. And pretty bad assed,” Roman divulges.

“It was crazy,” Tom laughs.

“Are you really surprised?” Roman asks sceptically, everyone confused.

“I mean, yeah,” Tom gasps.

“Aww wait, that makes sense. You didn’t know her when she was younger. She can dance like fuck too. When I was a kid, she used to dance at parties but this one time she got a little too drunk at this big party and got up and started dancing like crazy. It was brilliant. My dad had Baird drag her home. She’s got some moves,” he smiles, reflecting on an event that never fucking happened.

“Really?” One of the cronies ask.

“Yeah dude. It was insane,” Roman nods. “I bet I could get her to do it again,” he puffs his chest out.

“No fucking way. You couldn’t!” Tom laughs.

“I fucking could. This party is boring as shit so I would at least like a challenge. I bet I can get her to dance in the next hour,” Roman declares.

“I’ll take that bet!” The blond guy reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“How much? I’m not doing this for pennies,” Roman warns

“$100,” the blond guy offers.

“Fuck off!” Roman laughs loudly. “Make it $1,000. Each.”

“So, you’ll pay us $1,000 each if you lose?” The youngest looking one declares sceptically. “That’s $4,000 if you lose.”

“I fancy my chances,” Roman smiles, quirking his eyebrows.

“Deal,” the blond guy declares.

“Okay,” Tom laughs. “You’ll never fucking do it,” he laughs.

“I’m in,” the brunette one declares.

The youngest one eyes him thinking about it, “fine. One hour.”

“You’re on,” Roman declares, skipping away towards the dance floor, jumping in between Joan and Dana dancing to _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_.

“He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into,” Tom laughs as he downs the rest of his scotch.

****

Roman runs off the stage, having had a word with the DJ, the guy nodding as he starts sifting through his MacBook. He runs straight up to Gerri who’s chatting with Karolina and her husband.

“Gerri. Can I speak to you for a minute?” He interrupts as she smiles turning away from them, following him behind a pillar in the room.

“Okay, don’t get mad,” he declares, holding his hands out.

“No sentence that starts that way can ever end well,” she huffs, downing her champagne flute.

“Okay, okay. How do you feel about walking away from this Christmas party with $2,000?” He asks holding his hands up expectantly, his eyes wide.

“Go on,” she groans.

“All you need to do is dance with me,” he smiles, as her eyes narrow.

“What have you done?” She asks dryly.

“Tom and his fucking goons were laughing at you doing karaoke and I got angry and led them into a trap so that they would all need to give $1,000 each in a bet for me to get you to dance. But I’m going to half it with you. Or you can have the whole thing, whatever. Them being fucked over is enough for me,” he rabbles, waiting for her reaction worriedly.

“I don’t need $4,000, Roman. Why were they laughing?” She asks confused.

“He was talking about how you were a rock chick and acting like it’s not like you. Don’t worry I set the record straight. Told them you were bad assed at it. But I also told them you were a bad assed dancer as well, hence all this,” he declares, whirring his hands between them, stopping for a moment, hearing his requested song start up. “Fuck, that’s my cue. Are you in?” He asks quickly.

She huffs, thinking it over.

“Damn you, Roman,” she declares as he grins widely. “What do I need to do?”

“Just watch it all and jump in when I give you the signal. I’m going for a bit of fucking Oom-pah-pah,” he divulges.

“Some what?”

“Fucking Oliver? The musical. Jesus Christ. I’m going to rile everyone up so there’s no attention on you. Just stand at the side and jump in when I come get you. Put up a fight,” he rushes his words before running towards the dance floor as she follows him, watching from the side lines as he runs into the middle of a sea of older women dancing to _Ladies Night_.

He jumps right into the middle, dancing like crazy, his moves all hips, pointing at all the oldest women of the bunch. Taking Joan by the hand and twirling her in a circle, before letting her go, shimmying next to Barb from HR, twirling her into his chest and back out towards all the other women.

Karolina moves up next to Gerri, shaking her head as Gerri smiles, biting her lip as she watches the scene unfolding before her.

He ends up in the middle of a circle of women as they dance around him, cheering him on, watching him as wiggles his hips around, whipping his hair back, throwing his suit jacket off, undoing his bow tie and throwing that somewhere too as they all cheer, egging him on. He undoes his top few buttons, ends up falling onto the floor, doing the worm as everyone cheers.

The beat changes in the song as he starts marching towards Joan, grasping her hand, and leading her out of the circle as everyone watches, moving in front of her as she grasps his hips from behind. Before Gerri knows it, he’s leading a fucking conga line of middle-aged women around the dance floor, pulling all the moves at the front as they follow him when he heads towards her.

_She doesn’t know what he’s thinking but she’s not joining a fucking conga line._

All he does though is wink at her and Karolina as he passes them, continuing the snake line away from her.

_What the fuck was he up to?_

The music fades out, his next requested song starting, _Ain’t No Stopping Us Now_ , as the DJ declares over the microphone.

“No longer ladies’ night, fellas! Let’s see some of the men up here to join their lovely ladies!”

Roman turns around grinning, hugging Joan as she whispers to him how great a dancer he is, the conga line breaking up behind her as Joan’s husband comes to take over her. The floor fills with guys as they apparently come to claim their wives, even Tom and Shiv venturing up onto the floor as Ollie comes up behind Karolina, dragging her onto the floor.

Roman smiles, dancing on the spot as Joan finally lets him go, directing his dancing towards Gerri who’s standing on the edge of the floor watching him, shaking her head.

“Come on, Gerri!” He shouts for anyone around them to hear, Gerri noting Tom’s sudden interest. “You know you want to. You know you love disco!”

“No fucking way,” she protests adamantly.

“Yes, way!” He continues dancing, now directly in front of her. “Come on. Everyone’s partnered up. You’re my date for the night. Don’t leave me hanging,” he holds his hand out to her.

“I’m not your date,” she protests lighter this time.

“Come on. Do it for the people,” he pets his lip. “I’m just going to keep annoying you until you do.”

“God, you’re so irritating,” she rolls her eyes, taking his hand as he pulls her onto the dance floor, smirking as he leads the way, pointing a look at Tom, before turning around to dance around her as she bops on the spot.

_Thank fuck she’d had a drink, because this was fucking horrible._

She looks around to Tom, around to the guys she had seen him hanging around with, watching as they averted their gazes swiftly.

 _That’s what she was doing this for. To watch the smiles wiped off their faces_.

She gives it more rigor now, closing her eyes, incorporating her hands and arms as she begins moving her hips swiftly in rhythm, letting her body feel the beat as it used to back in the day.

“Gerriiiiiiiii!” Roman shouts loudly as she opens her eyes to see him grinning, dancing around her, Karolina and her husband dancing rigorously next to them. Joan pulling out every move in the book, as Dana swings her hands above her head.

She realises again that nobody cares, that she can have a good time, that her dancing to a fucking song wasn’t going to make anyone think any differently of her. She catches Tom’s glance again, notes how his look is more impressed than mocking as she continues dancing. She dips her head back, looking down to Roman again, notices that look in his eye that’s usually just for her. _Respect. Passion. Pride. All wrapped up into one_. It takes everything in her not to move closer to him, not wrap her arm around his shoulder, not to graze her lips up against his ear.

When the song finishes, she stays for the next one, a Diana Ross number she can’t resist as some of the people leave the dancefloor, Roman continuing to dance actively with her, all of them dancing together now, joining in with each other.

 _It’s the least shackled she’s felt in a work setting probably ever. Free to be herself. She’d had a taste of this in the London drag club_ , _though it was different around people she knew; different knowing she was showing a side of herself to people that they had likely never seen before_. _So freeing._

****

Roman goes back to the bum boy’s brigade to collect his winnings, offers them a double or nothing bet. **Gerri’s idea.**

The bet? That he could get her to dance one more time to a slow dance for another $1,000 each. If he couldn’t then he would owe them all $2,000.

It was a bet they were willing to take, sore from their loss, too stupid to stop gambling, completely unbelieving that whilst he could get Gerri to dance in a group, there was no way she would slow dance with him. She hated him too much, or so they thought.

He had given her the nod.

That it was going ahead, that she should wait for his move.

His opportunity comes when _Fairytale of New York_ comes on, an old favourite. The DJ inviting everyone couples onto the dancefloor. Most people taking to the dance floor for a sway; even Cyd making her way up there with her toy boy. He takes his opportunity when Gerri’s sitting alone, pretending to look at her phone.

“Come dance with me?” He smiles, holding his hand out.

No one is around. No one can hear what they’re saying, but she looks around anyway to make sure.

“Is this the point that I’m supposed to protest?” She looks at him challengingly.

“Yeah, and this is the point that I’m not supposed to tell you how you’re the most breath-taking person in this room that even Santa tried to come onto you. It’s the point that we get to pretend for two second that everyone knows, and I can openly dance with you like I’ve always wanted to,” he smiles, as she smirks a little, her heart wrenching.

“Okay,” she breaths, placing her phone in her purse before following him onto the floor, Shiv offering a sceptical look with her arms wrapped around Tom’s neck, Tom following her gaze, his mouth agape when he sees them, cursing as he looks back to Shiv, explaining the bet to her angrily.

Roman smiles, wrapping his arm around Gerri’s waist, taking her hand with the other, pulling her into a small sway as her hand tightens in his, her thumb rubbing his shoulder as her communication of how much she wishes they could dance closer, the way everyone else was.

**But he would take this. This was the closest they had ever got to it publicly.**

“I’ve got a feeling, this years for me and you,” he sings along with the music to her as she smiles. “So, Happy Christmas... I love you baby, I can see a better time, when all our dreams come true,” he continues singing as the tempo increases. 

He leans in a little closer to whisper in her ear, still swaying her from side to side.

“That $8k can pay for our vacation,” he whispers, as she throws her head back laughing.

“A good plan,” she smiles, tipping her hat to him.

They continue dancing as they sway from side to side, he singing along with the fighting part of the song enthusiastically, directing it up to the ceiling as she laughs. He continues swaying with her, smiling, until it gets to his favourite part.

“Can’t make it all alone, I built my dreams around you,” he sings quietly, looking her directly in the eye, offering a sincere smile after as she smiles back, squeezing his hand, swaying to the remainder of the song.

****

The rest of the night had been fun. Roman’s trick up his sleeve coming forth by continuing his father’s Scottish tradition at every Christmas party to make everyone complete the Gay Gordons ceilidh dance.

He had shouted for Santa to come and be his dance partner, before recruiting Karolina to be his partner for a quick run through reminder for everyone how to complete the dance, most of them fucking used to it by now; Logan being insistent in the past.

As everyone else partners up, he can’t deny that he’s excited to dance with Gerri again, whilst they join the large circles in their pairs as the ceilidh dancing begins, the piping music droning as they manoeuvre the four steps on repeat for a minute, before the DJ makes an announcement.

“Okay, let’s speed this up a little bit,” the DJ shouts as the tempo increases, the couples having to speed up their moves, most of them not able to properly partake the waltz part, it turning into more of a quick spin.

“Okay, now courtesy of Roman Roy, let’s shake things up again,” the DJ announces again laughing after another minute, as Gerri shoots Roman a quick look mid spin, whilst _Cotton Eye Joe_ starts playing over the music, everyone laughing as they try to keep up with the tempo, still continuing their ceilidh dancing. It ends up everyone laughing, fumbling a little, trying to continue the moves.

“All right,” the DJ announces as the song goes on for another minute. “Let’s try something different. I’m going to restart the song, you’ll spin on your partner’s arm for two rotation, ladies you’ll move to your left, gentlemen you’ll stay were you are, taking the lady that comes to you, switching partners. Take their arm, spin for two rotations and move forward again onto the next partner and so on. Here we go,” he shouts as Roman laughs whilst _Cotton Eye Joe_ starts up again from the beginning. He takes Gerri’s arm and spinning her in a rotation twice, before she leaves him moving onto Frank as Roman receives Cyd rotating her for two, Gerri next moving onto Tom as Roman receives Karolina. It had continued until the end of the song, Gerri never getting back to Roman as there had been too many people.

Everyone had cheered enthusiastically, the Christmas Macarena on next, Roman swaying his hips in anticipation as everyone lined up, Gerri bowing the fuck out and making her way to the bar.

****

Gerri had been the first to leave, kissing several people on the cheek, even allowing him a risky kiss on the cheek as she had told him out loud for the benefit of listeners that he had been an okay date and whispered to him after to have a good night.

**He was kind of disappointed. Thought that Gerri would change her mind about him coming over. Genuinely thought she was drunk enough to be riskier, though she didn’t seem that drunk.**

He ended up chatting with Frank, his girlfriend a little annoying as she whined about going home.

“I think I’m going to head anyway,” Roman had offered, no point in being here now if she wasn’t, everyone already drifting off anyway.

It had been a struggle to find his bow tie and suit jacket that he had whipped off earlier. He smiled at the thought, remembering that they were $8k up, Tom and his cronies were clamped, and he had gotten to dance with her publicly three times. He would take that as a win. He eventually found them neatly folded in the seat that Gerri had occupied earlier; of course, she had collected them. How he hadn’t considered that earlier proved how drunk he really was.

He didn’t check his phone until he was in a cab home, looking down at his notifications on his lock screen, seeing one there that made his dick light up.

**_8 minutes ago_ **

**_Gerri: My keys are inside your breast jacket pocket. Do not walk here. Take a cab._ **

**FUCKING YES, KELLMAN!**

****

He does as she asks, gets a cab to her apartment after a small detour. Slinks in past the dumpsters into the back door, up the stairwell that nobody used, the carpets still basically new, until he’s on her floor. The jig seems up when he passes a couple who stifle a giggle, looking up at him.

“Strip-o-gram,” he jokes, nodding to them before moving towards her door and unlocking it.

 **Shocked that it actually did unlock, and this wasn’t a dud key in an elaborate prank**.

He closes the door behind him, locking it, no sign of life anywhere.

“Gerri?” He calls out, adjusting his beard as he makes his way towards her bedroom, the light shining through the edged open door.

When he walks in, she looks beautiful. Sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her long dress, hair still perfectly up, her heels kicked off, two champagne flutes on her bedside table, soft music playing, and then she ruins it by bursting out laughing.

“What?” He asks confused.

“What?” She laughs hysterically. “Fucking what?” She shouts, falling back on the bed laughing, holding her ribs as they ache in pain.

He frowns, looking at her confused.

“You actually came dressed as Santa!” She shouts, howling harder as she opens her eyes, setting her off again.

He laughs with her, forgetting that he even fucking did it, he was too busy taking everything in.

“Pretty nifty, isn’t it?” He smiles proudly, posing as he touches his beard whilst she takes in his whole red Santa suit, black boots, black belt, hat and all. “Got it on Amazon.”

“Jesus Christ,” she trails her laughter off, wiping her eyes from the tears that had fallen, propped up on her elbow. “You’re fucking crazy,” she grins, shaking her head at him.

“Crazy in love,” he smiles, running over to the bed and jumping on it next to her as he wraps his arm around her waist, half lying on her, hovering his face above hers, whilst she smiles, laughing a little again.

“You want your key back?” He reaches into his pants pocket.

“Keep it for now,” she smiles, halting his hand by his hip, pecking his lips. “See it as an early Christmas gift.”

“Really? You’re like giving me a key?” He asks his eyes wide.

She nods, “I am.”

“I’ll give you one to mine,” he promises.

“You don’t have to,” she runs her finger down the back of his Santa hat, pulling at the pom pom there.

“Are you kidding? I want to. Now give Santa a kiss,” he groans deeply, moving his mouth closer to hers.

“I don’t like beards,” she divulges with a smile, pulling away from him. “Hair in your mouth. Bits in it. Makes me feel sick,” she reveals, running her hand over the white fur rim of his Santa hat.

He pulls it off over his head, throwing it across the room.

“How about now?” He asks, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a mistletoe he had stolen from the venue earlier and holding it above their heads.

She doesn’t speak, simply smiles, and crushes her lips to his, pulling him on top of her, moaning as their tongues war, the mistletoe forgotten as he throws it across the room to properly take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas lads x  
> Can you tell I’m from Scotland? 😂  
> Highly recommend a wee Gay Gordon’s ceilidh dance. I know all the dances. Will light up your world. 
> 
> Songs:  
> Ladies Night - Kool & The Gang  
> Ain't No Stopping Us Now - McFadden & Whitehead  
> Fairytale of New York - The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl  
> Cotton Eye Joe - Rednex


	2. Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

He let’s himself in with HIS BRAND NEW KEY TO HER APARTMENT, holding onto the array of bags, his coat buttoned all the way up, his scarf almost strangling him as it sits tightly underneath, as he closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” he shouts, starting to unbutton from the neck of his coat.

“Hey!” She shouts from what sounds like the kitchen.

He pokes his head in the kitchen door, her back is turned to him facing the stove, stirring a pot. His eyes drift down her body, taking in her perfectly styled hair, her curves being hugged perfectly in a short black dress, strings from a blue apron tied at her waist, her legs clad in black nylons, her calves shaped beautifully by her black high heels.

**She’d made an effort and he’s excited to see the front of what looks like a killer frock. He’s made an effort too. Had bought a new pink shirt, wanting to dress up without feeling like he was at work. He’d gone to his barber to have his hair trimmed and styled, had his overgrown stubble shaped and trimmed to ensure she wouldn’t get nauseated by any sign of a beard. He had put on his favourite cologne, the one he knew she inhaled for a second longer at his neck when he had put it on. They had agreed to make this special, so he’s glad she’s on board.**

“Hey,” he offers again gently, trying to hide the bags behind his back.

“Hi,” she smiles softly, looking at him over his shoulder, her lips red, her eyes a little smoky. “You look dapper,” she grins wider, still stirring a pot.

“You look pretty hot yourself,” he smiles. “I’m just going to go put these in the living room,” he gestures his head, towards the door as she nods, looking back to the bubbling pot on the stove.

He moves into her living room, his coat almost completely unbuttoned now, as he takes in her beautiful Christmas tree, chrome stags and Christmas wreaths on her fireplace. He’d teased her about it the other morning, noting its beauty, she confirming his suspicions that she had an interior decorator deck the place out with holiday merriment as she did every year.

He notes the various wrapped gifts under the tree as he kneels down, pushing his boxes and bag underneath it also, trying to hide the one with brands to the back, before he jumps up, moves to put his coat on the stand by the door before joining her.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, splaying across the island, picking up an lemon and throwing it up into the air before catching it.

“No,” she huffs, pushing the back of her hand against her forehead, before picking up the pot, her hands donned in black oven gloves, moving it to the sink on the island into a colander to drain the vegetables.

“Get over here and show me that fucking apron,” he smiles, reaching across the island to take her hand, noting her smirk as she pulls off the oven gloves, obliges, moving around, her heels clicking slowly against the tiles beneath her.

She moves out, revealing her body as she presses her hip against the counter, wiping her hands against each other as he appreciates the baby blue apron wrapped around her neck, stretching across her chest, synching her waist in, the little blue square below her waist falling just short of the hem of her dress which sits just above her knees.

“You’re too fucking cute,” he breathes, smiling.

“How’s that?” She looks down to the apron, touching the corners of the hem and pulling it up before dropping it again.

“Look at you,” he squeals, his eyes crunched up. “In your little apron. Making dinner.”

“I’ve been known to cook,” she rolls her eyes, her hand resting on her hip as the other traces the marble counter.

“And did you cook this whole thing from scratch?” He raises his eyebrow.

She jerks off the counter, moving back around to the sink, reaching over for her half-drunk glass of white wine on the way as she speaks.

“You know fine well I didn’t. I’ve been working all day. Maria started it off though after she cleaned up, left the instructions on how long it needed until it would be ready. The turkey is almost ready,” she explains as she takes a sip of her wine, returning to her vegetables. “There’s some wine in the fridge if you want some. Otherwise you know where the scotch is,” she instructs as she shakes the strainer up and down over the sink.

“Wine’s fine,” he smirks, moving around behind her, making a detour to kiss her neck, his fingers pressing into her hip before he makes his way to the fridge.

“Top up?” He asks, holding the open bottle of wine.

“Please,” she strains, moving the vegetables into a serving bowl.

“What about the table? Does it need set?” He asks, sipping his wine before jumping up onto the counter corner, a good view to watch her work.

“No, Maria set it earlier,” she divulges. “Thank you for asking though,” she smiles sweetly, stopping on her way to put the dish into the dining room, to peck his lips softly.

“I aim to please,” he shouts after her as she walks out the door.

Dinner is beautiful. Turkey with cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, honey glazed parsnips (his fucking favourite), plenty of gravy, bread rolls. But most importantly, the company is even better. Her dining room had been intimate as they sat close together on her 8-seater table; candles lighting the room, her white lace tablecloth donning the table, a full bottle of white wine already consumed between them. He leans back in his chair completely stuffed, throwing his napkin onto the table.

“That was fucking brilliant,” he stretches, sticking his swollen stomach out and slapping it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have your Christmas crackers or party hats,” she sighs, dabbing her mouth with her napkin before placing it on the table.

“Don’t worry about it. I think you only get them in England,” he smiles, reaching his hand out to hers, stroking his thumb across the back of hers, taking in her blood red nail polish. She shrugs, reaching out to her wine again as she relaxes back into the chair.

“You look really beautiful,” he gushes.

Her apron’s off now, he can see the curved neckline of her dress, how it scoops up to her shoulders, a pretty single large diamond sitting perfectly between her collarbones. Her dress is plain, but it suits her. It’s hot. A perfect little black dress.

“You’re very biased,” she smirks.

“No, really,” he tells her seriously, his eyes watching his thumb moving to trace the diamond bracelet on her wrist. “You’re fucking stunning.”

“Thank you,” she breathes, an embarrassed smile finding her lips.

“What’s on your agenda then?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to watch one of your movies? Do presents after them?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, pouting his lips as he looks down at the dishes. “Do we need to wash these dishes?”

“Just need to take them into the kitchen. Maria’s coming in tomorrow.”

“On Christmas Eve?” He squeals in surprise.

“Yes. She’ll be done early. There isn’t much to do. Plus, I’ll leave her a hefty bonus,” she reasons, rising from her chair, stacking up plates.

“Fuckin’ Scrooge,” he moans under his breath as she begins walking into the kitchen.

“I fucking heard that,” she shouts. “Grab the rest of the dishes, Bob Cratchit.”

****

They are cosied up on the couch, watching _How the Grinch stole Christmas_ , both of them laughing heartily at every joke. Beginning to compare everyone in Waystar to everyone in the movie.

Greg is a unanimous Cindy Lou Who. Roman declaring Gerri as the Grinch, himself as the Martha May; Gerri agreeing considering she’s apparently a fucking oversexed nymphomaniac in a kids movie, though she spends some time teasing him over whether he’s actually Max the dog. They agree that Logan is the mayor, both of them arguing over who his sidekick is. Roman declaring it as Frank, Gerri declaring it as Tom. Karolina is agreed as Cindy’s mom, Roman laughing hysterically as he realises that Hugo actually does look like Cindy’s dad. The two grannies who brought up the Grinch are decided as Joan and Barb. Cyd not really having a place in this story, pretty sure she would be the real Grinch of this plotline.

They continue laughing as each thing someone says is compared to what each of the Waystar counter parts would say, with more wine consumed, his hands surprisingly not wandering more than stroking her arms as she lies between his legs, her head and back resting against his chest.

They pause between movies, Roman topping up the wine, Gerri getting two slices of the chocolate cake she had bought, covering it with cream (whipped - his favourite). They lap it up as _It’s a Wonderful Life_ begins, a very different kind of movie from the previous. They remain silent, hanging onto every word to follow the storyline, Gerri stealing a little of his squirty cream from his bowl as he protests profusely, finishing it off and pulling her back onto his chest as the story continues. Her caresses of his forearm lying across her stomach become more frequent as the movie reaches its conclusion, his skin pricking with anticipation. She smiles, a tear in her eye as they Auld Lang Syne plays over the bell ringing, _The End_ coming up on the screen.

“That was really good,” she sighs. “Can’t believe I haven’t seen it before.”

“It’s a classic for a reason,” he whispers, placing a kiss on her crown. “I wonder if things would be that different if I wasn’t born,” he wonders as the screen goes blank, his senses buzzing, his head a little fuzzy, his mood reflective as she continues her caresses.

“I think it would be a much sadder world,” she concludes. “I know mine would be.”

“What do you think you’d be doing just now?”

She huffs, thinking about it as she rests her head back on his collarbone.

“I would be doing what I usually do. Sitting here drinking wine. Maybe watch a documentary. Go to bed early. Maybe read _Little Women_ in bed _._ That’s usually what I read at Christmas time,” she sighs.

**Fuck that reminds him. The presents.**

“You haven’t done that this year?”

“I have a little. Usually it’s completed pretty quickly but I haven’t had the time this year. I’ve had a little parasite taking my nights recently.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“I’m kidding,” she laughs. “I’d rather do this,” she smiles.

“So, your life wouldn’t be that different? If I wasn’t here?” He asks solemnly, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “My life would be completely different. I would be bored for a start,” she smiles, twisting her head to look up to him.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“Mhm,” she nods, looking back down to his hand, threading her fingers through his. “I’ve told you, Rome. You’ve brought a lot of fun and excitement into my life that was missing. I’m very grateful for that. I am very,” she brings their joined hands up to kiss the back of his, “very,” she pecks again, “happy.”

He smiles, kissing her crown again.

“Everyone’s life would be different if you were never born,” he laments. “The whole company would be fucked for a start. Probably wouldn’t be here at all. And my life? Would be pointless,” he decides.

She laughs a little, “you’re only saying that on hindsight. Your life would be exactly like it was a year ago.”

“Exactly,” he whispers. “Pointless.”

She frowns, turning in his arms, her elbow perching on his chest, her hand holding her head up as she looks down at him puzzlingly.

“Your life without me was never pointless. Misguided perhaps but not pointless,” she decrees, as he trails his hand into her hair to push it back from her face.

“All I know is that I’m about 300 times happier this year than I was last year,” he tells her seriously, distracted by each strand as it tucks behind her ear. “And that’s because of you.”

“Ditto,” she smiles, moving her head to the side to kiss his wrist as his hand weaves into the back of her head.

“Even if I don’t get to spend Christmas Day with you, tonight has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had. I’m going to pretend it’s my Christmas.”

“That’s just this Christmas, Rome. Next Christmas will likely be different,” she surmises.

“You think so?” He asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “I do.”

He wraps his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down to his lips as he kisses her lovingly, his lips caressing hers as she opens her mouth to him, her tongue grazing his, their kiss becoming progressively passionate as he desperately runs his hand over her back, into her hair, hers bracing against his chest.

She pulls back quickly, hovering over him to stop it progressing any further, much to his dismay.

“Come on,” she smirks. “We need to open our gifts before this gets any more heated,” she laughs as she pushes up over him, moving over to kneel next to the Christmas tree as he sits up, his hair ruffled from the pillow he was lying against.

“Will I go first or? You want to do one each?”

“One each. Shittiest to the coolest,” he smiles, perching on the edge of the couch next to the tree.

“Okay,” she laughs, looking at all the gifts before her.

“You go first,” he offers excitedly. “Ehm... the small one at the front,” he points. “Open that one.”

“All right,” she smiles, opening the shitily wrapped package, finding a cream cashmere scarf.

“It’s Max Mara. I thought it would go with your hat,” he explains cautiously.

“It will,” she agrees, running her hand across the soft fabric. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she smiles up to him, before folding it neatly back up, reaching for a small neatly wrapped box, passing it to him, as he grins, manically unwrapping it, pieces of paper flying everywhere as she laughs.

“Fuck. A PS5 controller,” he smiles looking up to her excitedly.

“Well you did tell Santa you wanted one. I considered the anal beads, but this was less expensive,” she quips, moving off her knees as they protest, sitting with her legs tucked to her side on her plush rug.

“Good, now you need to play with me,” he grins mischievously.

“Me? Play the games?” She chokes out.

“Why do you think I wanted two controllers?”

“I don’t know,” she shouts incredulously, shrugging. “I don’t know how to play.”

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a go of Grand Theft Auto first, let you kill a few prostitutes and then we’ll move you onto Call of Duty once you get the hang of it,” he waves her off, placing the box next to him on the couch as she shakes her head amused.

“Which one next?” She asks looking back under the tree.

“Go for the other big Max Mara bag at the back.”

She smiles, reaching around and pulling it towards her.

“I do wear other things other than Max Mara, you know,” she laughs, pulling out a long soft beige cardigan. She smiles, standing up to hold it up against her, it falling to her knees. “It’s beautiful,” she grins, looking down at it. “You have good taste.”

“It looked like the shit you would wear. You probably have a dozen of them, but thought you could use it to lounge around,” he shrugs as she looks at the label. “I was going to go for a coat, but I thought that was too personal. You love your coats. I would imagine you’re picky about them.”

“You would be right,” she laughs, straining to read the label. “Oh, an alpaca wool and cotton blend,” she comments, rubbing the fabric between her fingers and looking up to him impressed.

“Yeah,” he gulps. “Woman in the store said it was classic. Which is you so,” he shrugs, not completing the sentence.

“I love it,” she smiles, moving towards him, as he looks up to her when she bends to kiss his lips gently. She quickly pulls away, putting the cardigan delicately back into the bag, and sitting back before the tree.

“I feel bad now,” she reveals reaching for another box. “You’ve gone and spent a fortune at Max Mara and I’ve got you stupid little things.”

“That’s exactly what I want. Stupid little things,” he holds his hands up, protesting, as she hands him a box, whilst he once again rips off all the paper, twirling the box in his hands to look at the picture, his jaw hitting the floor as she grimaces, waiting for his response.

“You like it?”

“No fucking way!” He shouts. “No fucking WAY!”

“You kept complaining about your back when you were playing the games and the girls used to always have these. I thought you’d like it,” she scrunches her face up, baring her teeth as she tries to read him.

“A FUCKING BLOW UP CHAIR!” He shouts excitedly. “I fucking love a blow up chair! I used to get one every single fucking Christmas. So would Ken and Shiv, and we would watch movies in them before we got bored and would just bounce on and off them, throwing each other on them, throwing them at each other. Ken hit one of the au pairs with it once. Was fucking hilarious. They would always be burst within a few weeks though.”

“So, you like it?”

“I FUCKING LOVE IT!” He jumps off the couch, kneeling next to her and kissing her hard before pulling away and looking at it.

“Don’t open it now!” She protests as he has the tape already off when he sits back on the couch. “It’s for your apartment. Not mine!”

“Why not? I think it would fit in nicely with your fancy interior,” he jokes as she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, so this one next?” She asks, looking down at the only remaining foreign package under her tree.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Open the card on it.”

“Did you put money in a card? Because if you did, I swear to god,” she laughs, opening the envelope, looking down to the _Happy Christmas to the Most Amazing Girlfriend_ card, a little tree on top of it. She smirks, looking up to him knowingly.

“What? You _are_ my girlfriend,” he reminds her, as she opens the card, four tickets falling out.

“Oh, what are these for?” She smiles, looking down, reading them as he tells her.

“Well, there’s two tickets to see Nile Rogers and Chic, and two tickets to see Fleetwood Mac. They aren’t until late next year so I thought it would be okay if I came with you. But you can take whoever you want,” he reveals quietly.

“Of course, I want you to come with me, if you don’t feel like you’re being dragged along,” she tells him absently as she reads the card inside with his child-like scrawl she can barely comprehend.

**_To my Gerri,_ **

**_Merry Christmas babe._ **

**_Love you forever to the moon and back,_ **

**_Rome x_ **

She tears up a little, looking back up to him as he continues speaking.

“I’ve been learning Chic songs,” he divulges, rubbing his ear, a little embarrassed. “And Stevie gave me the Fleetwood Mac ones, so they don’t really count.”

“It’s not the money that’s important, Rome,” she reminds him. “It was still very thoughtful. And I’ve never seen Chic.”

“I’ve heard it’s a good concert. Joan said it was. And we can go backstage and meet Stevie if you want to.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she laughs nervously, putting the card and tickets back into the envelope. “I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”

“She’s really nice. You don’t need to worry about anything,” he laughs.

“I don’t know. We’ll see how it goes,” she leaves it at that, reaching for a large box, handing it over to him as he sets it on his lap.

“Oh… it’s light,” he laughs, throwing it up and down before he rips the wrapping paper off, _Agent Provocateur_ reading across the front of the large box as he looks up to her with a flirty gaze.

“I didn’t realise you wanted to see me in a suspender belt, Gerri. I’m flattered but I have one at home that’s my old faithful. You could have saved your money,” he jibes as she rolls her eyes, watching him lifting the lid off the box, sifting through the tissue paper, realising that the box is completely empty.

“Wait, I don’t get it. There’s nothing in here,” he looks up to her confused.

“That’s because you still have to unwrap it,” she quirks her eyebrow with a smirk.

“I fucking did,” he contorts, looking through the tissue paper again just in case he missed something.

“No,” she laughs. “It’s not you in suspenders, Rome. It’s me,” she lowers her voice seductively.

“You’re?” He breathes. “You’ve already got it on?” He asks breathless, his dick growing hard as she nods slowly.

“Then, let’s get it unwrapped,” he jumps up as she lifts a hand to him to halt him before he can even take a step.

“Let’s get these last gifts out of the way first,” she laughs, as he sits back down dejected.

“Fine. At least tell me what you have on,” he moans, shifting the front of his pants as he becomes uncomfortable with their growing tightness.

“It’s a surprise,” she deadpans. “You can wait a few minutes.”

He groans loudly as she laughs, picking up the last gift under the tree.

“This the last one? Yeah?” She asks, beginning to slowly unwrap it, teasing him.

“Couldn’t you have given me the sexy lingerie last, so I didn’t have to go through this torment,” he groans dramatically, watching her every move, waiting for the gift to open.

“It’s more fun this way,” she smirks, as the gifts end up revealing themselves.

Two antique books: one beige, _Anne of Green Gables_ and one green, _Little Women_ , enclosed in plastic sealing.

“They’re first edition,” he tells her softly. “Look inside,” he encourages her, as she sits speechless, pulls the first one, _Little Women_ out of its protective sealing; runs her hand over the front cover, over the golden writing on the front, opening to the front cover as she looks at the aged pages, the smell of the old book hitting her. The smell throws her back to a memory of a little antique book shop she remembers wandering into on West 59th street when she was in her early 20’s, unable to afford any of them, but just excited to be around them; she wonders if it’s still there.

“You did say that they were your favourite books,” he continues, still nervous from the fact that she hadn’t said a single word, as she places that book back into its cover and down onto the rug, pulling Anne of Green Gables from its protective sheet next. She runs her fingers across the cloth hardback of that also, opening the book to receive a similar smell as she closes her eyes inhaling it.

“I thought you would like to see how they were originally meant to be,” he continues, watching her every move, every twitch of every muscle on her face.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, opening the book again at a random page, sifting through it, stopping when she realises there are illustrations inside; Anne and Gilbert walking together, Anne with her parasol, ‘ _Come I’m going to walk with you’_ written below it. A smile comes to her lips as she goes back to the beginning, trying to look at every illustration, a drawing of an angry Marilla as Mathew brings home a confident Anne with her suitcase.

She closes the book, looking up to his worried face, grins widely, her eyes crinkling, her blue eyes sparkling, a gasp escaping suddenly as her eyes tear up.

 _They are so thoughtful, and she knows they’re expensive. Probably $25,000 each. She knows that he wouldn’t even have considered that when purchasing them. How the fuck was she so lucky to have Rome in her life?_

“These are the most beautiful gifts anyone’s ever gotten me,” she reveals sincerely, wiping a tear off her face.

“Well, you like books and these are your favourites. You should have the best,” he tells her honestly, clasping his hands in front of him, his elbows settled on his spread-out knees.

“Where did you get them?” She asks gently, putting the second book back into its cover.

“Google. Some website had them. I phoned around to make sure it was legit before I bought them. I swear they are,” he tells her quickly.

“No, I know they are,” she smiles softly as she sits the second book down, collecting an envelope from under the tree and standing up slowly as his gaze follows her, watches as she walks towards him, moving to sit on his lap, he receiving her happily.

“Thank you, Rome,” she whispers softly, kissing him lovingly, pouring every ounce of what she is feeling into him as she grasps the back of his neck, thick envelope still in her hand, her other hand threading through the hair on the back of his head.

“Anything for you,” he whispers back when she pulls away, pressing her forehead to his with her eyes closed, whilst he grips her waist with his hand, runs his other up and down her thigh.

She pulls back, opening her eyes, coughing a little as she brings the envelope in front of them, looking down at it before sighing deeply, as he follows her gaze.

“Oh! Do I get a card too?” He waggles his eyebrows excitedly.

“I’m not going to lie,” she grimaces, looking back up to him. “I completely forgot to get you a card,” she laughs a little as he rolls his eyes at her.

“Then what’s in there,” he nods to the envelope.

“It’s your last gift. But the more I think about it, it’s not really a gift,” she sighs, looking down at it sadly.

“Why’s that?” He asks, pushing his lips into her cheek as she smiles, her free hand reaching behind the back of his neck.

“Open it,” she breathes, holding it out as he takes his hand off her thigh, taking the envelope out of her hand.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he smiles, as he moves back from her a little, allowing his other hand to come from around her, opening the envelope as he places a kiss to her bare forearm encasing his jaw, smiling against it as he pulls out a bunch of stapled papers folded over, opening it up.

 ** _HOME PURCHASE AND SALE AGREEMENT_** , stands out a country mile at the top as he strains his eyes, completely confused, she watching his every expression.

He skims down, trying to figure it out as she speaks.

“It’s not really a gift because I didn’t buy anything. I just sorted it all out. You would be the one paying for it,” she clarifies, biting her lip as she takes in his reaction, his eyes finally seeing the address.

**_5 Chalcot Square, London, NW1 8YB, United Kingdom._ **

“This isn’t?” He asks astounded, looking up to her.

“Yeah, it is,” she gulps, looking down at the paper. “Your house in London. I contacted them myself, started a negotiation. The house is worth maybe $5.5 million, but they said they weren’t really willing to sell,” she begins to recall as he just stares at her. “Then I called a few realtors, it turns out they’d enquired about selling not so long ago, had pictures taken and everything but had pulled out. So, I contacted them again. I think they were just trying to play hard ball after that. We finally settled on 6. I don’t know if you’re willing to pay that, but we worked the whole thing out. Me and my conveyancing lawyer. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line if you want to go for it, and of course, pay the money,” she laughs a little nervously, looking back up to him, noting his eyes seeping into her, his expression unrevealing, his whole body still.

“Rome?” She ventures, her mouth dry as he looks back down to the contract and then back up to her face as she starts to internally panic that she’d gone too far, that he’s disappointed.

He plunges onto her mouth, as she moans, taken aback, grasping his neck so she doesn’t fall clean of his lap from the impact. However, he’s animalistic, forcing his way into her mouth, grazing his tongue against hers as his hands roam wildly over her thighs, his hand journeying harshly up under her dress as she pulls back flustered, pushing him away.

His face is flushed, his eyes overrun with passion, his chest heaving as he breathes rapidly.

“Rome,” she whispers, searching his eyes.

He continues gasping, looks down at the contract again before bursting into tears, his forehead landing on her shoulder as she pulls her arm out from between them, wrapping around his back, her other hand finding the back of his head.

“What is it?” She asks desperately.

“I fucking love you, Gerri,” he wails into her shoulder, kissing her skin there as he trails hard up to her neck, burrowing in there, his death grip around her tightening.

“I love you, Rome, but,” she sighs, not really sure what to say. “You said you wanted the house. Don’t you like it? I mean you don’t have to sign it,” she breathes desperately, her eyes roaming around the room behind him.

He nods into her neck, kissing there wildly again, his teeth grazing against her skin as her eyes roll closed.

“Talk to me,” she whispers, trying to stay focussed.

“No one’s done something so fucking nice for me,” he breathes.

She sighs with relief, alleviated that she wasn’t completely far off when she started planning this as soon as they had left London.

“I would have bought you it, but I’m not that made of money that I can just go around buying townhouses for people,” she laughs. “I know you are though,” she quips, as he pulls back, looking up to her seriously as she pushes his hair away from his face, noting his petted lip.

“Thank you,” he whispers, kissing her lips softer this time, closing his eyes as she sighs into it this time, air rushing over his face from her nose.

“So, you’re going to buy it?” She mumbles against his lips.

“I want it to be yours too,” he mumbles back, his lips still working hers.

She pulls back at that.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers, caressing his face.

“I don’t want it without you. I’ll pay for it. I just want your name on it too,” he whispers, pushing his head firmer into her hand.

“I don’t need a house,” she smiles, tracing her thumb across his lips.

“It’s not about what you need. It’s about what I want it to be. I want it to be ours. I want it to be our escape.”

“I understand that, honey, but it can be our escape without my name being on it,” she whispers. “And it’s your house. Your dream house.”

“Is it the house you don’t like or the idea of owning a house with me?” He asks, half challenging, half hurt.

“No, I love the house and it doesn’t bother me owning a house with you,” she reassures. “but my name can’t be on it right now. It’s too risky,” she tries to tell him gently.

“Okay,” he breathes, his eyes narrowing as he thinks, deciding to just take the plunge and ask. “Too risky because your anticipating us breaking up and having to divide it as an asset or because of us being a secret? I need a bit of clarity here, Gerri,” he asks breathing heavily, her hand still trying to stroke his cheek gently to soothe him.

“Because we’re a secret, Rome. Because we can’t have anything in writing to confirm this relationship right now,” she confirms. “Not because I’m anticipating breaking up with you. If that ever did happen, I would just sell my share back to you. It’s not a non-issue. It’s _your_ dream house,” she asserts.

“But I want to pay for it,” he affirms. “You wouldn’t need to pay a thing.”

“No, if my name is on something then I’m paying my way,” she contends firmly.

“Okay,” he huffs exasperated, thinking again. “What if,” he throws his hands up, letting go of her waist. “What if I bought it then and when we go public, you give me half the money and your name gets put on the house with me then? What about that? Then it’s both of ours but I can secure it, your name just a little delayed on the paper, and we can fix it up the way we want in the meantime.”

She smiles sweetly, pushing his hair back from his face again.

“Sounds like a deal,” she confirms, pecking his lips as he grins widely.

“I’m going to own my dream house,” he whispers excitedly, pecking back. “And you’re going to own it with me,” he says even more excitedly, letting out stray breaths as he gulps randomly, struggling to take this all in.

“Eventually, yes,” she confirms, rubbing her nose against his.

“You’re making all my dreams come true,” he whispers, pulling her close as he kisses her soundly.

“Come on,” she smiles, standing up. “You still have a gift to unwrap,” she walks backwards, towards her bedroom, pulling him by the hand with her.

“Do you know that I fucking worship you? Like I would literally fall to my knees right now and do anything for you, I love you that much,” he groans, as she smirks, turns around, walking resolutely as he comes up behind her, pressing up against her back as he kisses her neck, pushing her hair to the side as they continue walking awkwardly, she letting out small giggles on the way.

When they reach her bedroom, she turns around to face him, arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, as his hands run from her waist to her behind, kissing her resolutely.

“Are you going to unwrap me?” She whispers against his lips. “For once, you’re in charge. I am merely your gift.”

“What a fucking gift,” he groans pushing his pelvis harder into her as he devours her mouth, her moans escaping as he pushes his hardness further into her.

She pulls back, trying to keep on track, wants this to play out a little slower as she pulls away from him.

“So, what’s your plan?” She asks him, her hand running through her hair to push it back, trying to control herself.

“Gerri, that fucking dress, man,” he growls as he takes in the little black dress, taking in how it shows off every fucking asset, but he wants to see what’s underneath it now. She merely stands still, eyebrow quirked, as she waits for some kind of instruction.

“Turn around,” he breathes, as she does so, he sidling up behind her to run his hands over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck as she looks to the side with a smile.

He moves up to the zip mirroring her spine, slowly pushing it down, revealing what looks like a bra until he moves the zip down further, realising it covers the full expanse of her back, only a little black key hole bang in the middle. He turns her around, pecking her lips, before pulling the dress off of her arms as he moves up close to her, a mere breath away when he pushes it past her hips, allowing it to pool on the floor. He’s yet to look down, their eyes too busy warring, her eyebrows ever challenging as he smirks, sticking his tongue out to quickly like her lips as she laughs, pulling back in protest with a squished face.

He finally looks down, takes a step back, breathes in how she looks, ends up sitting on the edge of her bed, as she stands there, like a fucking goddess challenging him.

It’s a black, half laced kind of body suit, a band around the waist synching it in, lace around her pushed up underwired breasts, a small triangle of lace at her midriff. There’s this panel of black satin on the front, either side of it sheer. Then there’s the fucking suspenders attached to the bottom, black stockings attached to them, her high heels still on. As a whole, she just looks a fucking vision, the provocative outfit enhancing every single fucking asset of her body, her blonde hair contrasting beautifully, her blue eyes glistening, every single voluptuous curve accentuated. He could come from just looking at her.

“Fuck,” he whispers, running his hand over his face, as his reversed palm stays across his face, his other hand supporting his elbow, his eyebrows raising, still staring, trying to figure out how to tackle this, as though it’s a fucking proxy battle.

“Turn around,” he mumbles into his hand, as she smirks but does as she’s told, revealing her completely black sheer backside, curving deliciously around her shapely derriere, before she turns back around.

“Fuck,” he whispers again, sighing as he shrugs, begins taking off his shoes and socks, his shirt next as he shakes his head, as though he was fucked, as though there was no solution.

“You said that,” she quirks, leg turning out as her hand goes on her hip. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking my shirt off. Shirt’s off shit,” he explains obviously.

“Why’s it shirts of shit time?”

“Because I’m fucked,” he resigns with a sigh, pulling his open shirt out of his pants.

“Why are you fucked?” She asks confused with a frown.

“The planes been hijacked. All the engines are falling into the sea, and the pilot’s hair’s on fire,” he repeats her own words back to her resolutely as he balls his shirt up and throws it across her room; she watching it as she narrows her eyes back at him, as he stands up, unbuckling his belt, moving onto the zip of his pants.

“Can I ask why?” She tries again more politely, her voice almost singing, as he pushes his pants to the floor, his underwear with it, his erection springing out easily.

“Because you’re too fucking hot and I can’t fucking stand it anymore. I think at this point I’ve just gone into shock,” he divulges calmly as he kicks his pants away, sitting back on the bed and abruptly falling back on the bed, his legs hanging over the bed. “Fuck! You’re so fucking hot. How the fuck am I meant to get you off without jizzing in my pants immediately and just ruining the whole thing,” he sighs, before sitting up abruptly again, Gerri silently following his fucking rollercoaster of thought, her cheeks sucked into her mouth, her eyes filled with mirth.

“Okay. Shirts off shit,” he psyches himself up, stretching his neck from side to side, blowing out a slow breath. “DO NOT TOUCH MY DICK NO MATTER WHAT!” He finally decides, holds his hands out, waving them with each word he says as she laughs.

“No, I’m being serious. Like don’t touch my dick unless I tell you to or it’s all over,” he explains.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Am I allowed to come near you or are we just going to sit on opposite sides of the room all night?”

“Yes,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he holds his hand out to her, she taking it with a smile as she walks towards him, his eyes opening when he can smell her perfume, feel her heat near him.

“This is the kind of shit they should use in interrogations. Like, fuck,” he groans, as his hands move up to her hips, her hand running through his hair.

“You like it then?” She smiles.

“Fuck yes,” he confirms resolutely. “Maybe next time just put it on when I’ve already cracked one out.”

She laughs again, tilting his head up so she can bend down to kiss him briefly, standing back up quickly.

He simply starts exploring, runs his hands up her sides as he takes deep breaths, his eyes permanently wide, as his thumbs trace along the lace triangle, down the satin front panel, running along the rim of the hem to the suspenders down to the stockings, across her thighs, grazing her skin and the tip of the top of the nylons.

He bends down to kiss the flesh at the top of her thigh, his head twisting as his open mouth kisses languidly along them, leaving a wet trail of saliva, his hands moving around to the back of her thighs, up to the thin fabric covering her behind and back up to the band at her waist, her eyes never leaving his movements as she basks in every vibration her body creates in reaction.

He looks up to her through his eyelashes, a fucking goddess, temptress, fucking siren towering over him as her smile changes from a smirk to her smile for him, her gentle smile. He pulls her down onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, her centre sure to not press against him, as he looks down at her buxom bosom, half covered in lace, her nipples slightly peeking out.

His lips find his way to her collar bone as one of his hands explores her back, pulling at one of her straps to pull it off her shoulder, the other hand tracing against her breast, earning small gasps from the back of her throat.

He pulls back, a breath away from her faded red lips.

“Fucking stunning,” he whispers as she groans, her hips jolting towards him.

_She’s never felt more beautiful. More desired. More provocative. She never thought she would see him look hungrier for her than he had when he had first seen her last stockings. He looked like he wanted to devour her, like he was lost in his lust, like he was afraid he would get too overexcited from wanting her that it would somehow hurt her. He looks animalistic, carnal, feral, and it has her completely fucking wet. The chemistry here, the vibe, the thick air between them made her fucking ravenous to take him, to be taken._

“You’re going to have to fuck me soon because I can barely take it,” she breathes, pressing her forehead to his with closed eyes.

“ _You_ can barely take it? I think I’m going to fucking die,” he tells her seriously as she laughs.

“My heart is literally going to give out from how turned on I am. You’re going to have to cancel Christmas and bury me,” he continues as she presses a palm over his mouth, smiling.

“Put your dick to good use and fuck me,” she orders, as he smiles against her palm, kissing it before she pulls it away, moving it around his neck to take his mouth again, kissing ardently.

“This thing better have crotch buttons or I will riot,” he mumbles against her mouth as she laughs lightly, his hand trailing down to her centre, feeling the dampness there before popping the buttons open.

She feels a rush, the air around her centre, before he pushes his fingers against her, feeling how wet she is, pushing up against her clit as he begins to rub back and forth, his tips moving from her clit to her entrance way.

“Rome,” she whispers against his mouth, her hands coming up to his jaw so she can devour his mouth harder.

He can feel her moving her pelvis against his steady hand, the groans coming from the back of her throat into his mouth.

“You ready?” He whispers as he continues stroking harder.

“Please.”

He uses his other hand to pull her closer to his straining hard on, pushing up against her centre a few times, before she raises higher, supporting herself with her hands on his shoulders, as he grasps his dick, placing it at her entrance before she sinks down onto him, both of their mouths lying open, letting out gasps as he fills her completely.

“Fuck,” he whispers as his kisses move to her shoulder, his hands resting over her suspenders as he starts jerking his hips up into her, her thighs doing the work to push up before slamming back down onto him as they find a rhythm, her eyes falling closed, moans escaping her as he hits the spot inside her, the lower belly filling up with heat.

“Yes, Rome. Yes, baby,” she gasps against his ear, her arms wrapped around his back, his forearms now perched on her wide hips, helping to give him leverage with each pump he blasts up into her as he hears her heels clump onto the hard floor below her.

“Fucking yes,” he bites at her collar bone, sucking the flesh there as she tries to move her pelvis to get some kind of friction against her clit, her knees beginning to ache.

“On my back, Rome. My knees,” she groans, as he stops, lifting her up, much to her fucking surprise.

_She hadn’t been lifted in fucking years._

“Roman,” she squeals as she wraps her legs around him, tightening her hold on his shoulders, his dick slipping out of her as he lies her back gently on the bed, she removing her legs from around him, letting him go to move back a little so he can crawl over her.

“You okay?” He asks, voice thick with concern; running his hands up her calves, kissing her nylon clad knee, before looking back up to her, as she smiles sweetly, her arm falling above her head, nodding her affirmation.

“You sure?” He asks, moving up to hover over her body with his, kissing her lips as his hands brace on the bed on each side of her waist.

“Yeah. This is better,” she kisses back eagerly as she moves her pelvis up to his, her signal for him to resume.

“Okay,” he mumbles against her lips as he moves his fingers down to her centre, pushing the juices there around again, before pushing back into her, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he moves his hand up to lace through the one above her head, she tightening it eagerly. She opens her eyes, notes his pained expression, the sweat pouring off him as he builds up a slow rhythm, her other hand moving to the back of his neck, her hips trying to bear down each time he pounds into her, nothing to press against for leverage.

His hips become more frantic, pumping into her wildly, his pelvis and pressure giving her the friction against her clit that she needs as he pushes his hand under her up, pulling her up to give her the angle he knows she needs.

“Harder, Rome,” she shouts. “Yeah. Oh my god, yeah,” she shouts louder as he tries to follow her commands, his breathing ragged, his eyes tight as he tries to hold on.

“That’s it,” she breathes, her orgasm about to hit, “right there,” shouts breathily, as she falls over the edge, he hitting that spot within her perfectly, her overstimulated clit pulsing, her insides contracting around him as he finally is able to let go, spilling within her.

“Yes, Gerri,” he hisses, jerking wildly within her, their movements becoming erratic as he finds her mouth, his tongue lapping against hers as his hand threaded in hers tightens, her leg coming up to wrap around his behind as she encourages his last few thrusts into her.

He lays across her heaving chest spent, his mouth grazing her lace cup, her eyes closed in exhaustion as her nails trail his shoulders.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispers.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he heaves, bringing their woven hands down to his lips to kiss the back of her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very Merry Christmas Day to anyone who celebrates it :)))  
> Couldn't have a Christmas Day without Roman and Gerri celebrating their very own a few days early with each other


	3. All Alone on Christmas

It’s hard to leave her in the morning. He had stayed a little longer than he usually would, unwilling to leave the bed but knowing he had to go before New York City started its day, before Maria arrived, before he was seen.

But he’s excited to go home, blow up his inflatable chair, set up his new controller; leaving his signed contract with Gerri to send away, reluctant to leave his gifted underwear behind as well though she had insisted.

Christmas Eve was here.

He’s psyching himself up for his annual Home Alone stay at the Plaza. Only answering a few emails through the day, almost everyone winding down for the holiday so not many coming through. Spending his time bouncing on the inflatable chair as he kills off zombies one by one, sends her the odd text message as she updates him that she’s on the plane, that she’s landed in Boston.

**He wonders what her daughters are like. Can’t really imagine what it would be like to meet them. She had said that next Christmas could be different; suggesting that they would be spending it together. Would that be with his family or hers? Would they be taking a turn each? He’d never spent a Christmas away from his family, never considered ever going to endure the torture with the family of whatever girlfriend he was with at the time. Some of the girlfriends had joined him with his family, some of them had left him to spend it with theirs. Either way he didn’t really care if they were present or not. But the thought of not spending a future Christmas with Gerri wasn’t an option. He would follow wherever she wanted to go, so if that meant an awkward dinner with her daughters next year then so be it.**

**She had never really brought up him meeting her daughters; he hadn’t either, the thought too daunting. They hadn’t really mentioned telling his siblings either; assuming that every reaction was going to be hard work in its own way, both of them having to defend their decision in a different way, the age difference of course being the main argument that was inevitably heading their way.**

**She didn’t really talk much about her daughters, had hinted that it had been a relatively strained relationship due to whatever had happened in the past; mainly her dedication to Waystar, she had hinted. He wonders what they’re like. Wonders if they are fucked up as much as his own family. Wonders if her daughters view Gerri and Baird, as they do his mom and dad. Surely not. Gerri was too kind, too sweet. No one could hate her. She was a strong Waystar fan favourite.**

**He wonders if they have any banter, any humour in them. If Christmas was a merry occasion, or a tense one where everyone drinks too much wine and starts dropping pedantic hints about ancient wounds. She had never really explained; never really talked about it, and he wonders if that’s because of her need for privacy or because it’s too sore. He supposes he might find out over the next few days.**

**He wonders what her game plan is with this though. She’s going to have to tell them before they go public. He wonders if she would want him there or if she would want to fly solo. He wonders if both of the girls would act the same, or if they would argue between themselves over Gerri’s actions. He wonders what their influence may be over Gerri; if their reactions would bother her causing a pull back, or if she would take the hard line with them and tell them to mind their own fucking business.**

**He imagines Gerri up there this weekend, showing up at her daughters lavish apartment. Maddie surely has an opulent dwelling; she and her husband both Boston lawyers, Gerri likely giving a lot towards it to make up for the years of bullshit she thinks she put them through. He ponders over how the reunion would go; if it would be all hugs and kisses, and heart-warming thoughtful gifts with champagne flowing, or if it would be forced and strained, Gerri treating it like it was a business meeting, offering unwilling though convincing compliments to their partners, yet hopeful and sincere praise to her daughters as they resistantly accepted them.**

**He wants to find out. Wants to just sit back and study the whole thing. Be a fly and the wall as he watches the scenes unfold. Either scenario offering further insight into a part of Gerri he doesn’t know of.**

**She had once told him that she only calls her girls honey when he had challenged her on calling him it. He likes to think of her as a wholesome mom. One of those ones that wear matching pyjamas with their daughters, holding a glass of champagne by the tree as they pose for a picture on Christmas Eve, though he knows he’s taking this fantasy a bit far. He speculates on whether she treats him the same way she treats them or if it’s different. The small looks of care and affection that are only usually reserved for him, he ponders over whether they were perfected after years of directing them towards her daughters. A small part of him is jealous at the thought of sharing those looks, that affection; though mostly he finds it endearing, another layer of Gerri uncovered**.

****

He’s tucked up in the huge bed by 6pm in the Plaza, a personal butler handing him a huge burger with fries on a silver platter; Home Alone 2 backpack flung to the side, the customary paint can waiting to be added to his collection. He had opted to watch _Oliver!_ much to the confusion of the now dismissed butler who had been forced to put it on, unwilling to watch the classic Christmas movies until later when she called. It had always been one of his favourites as kid; kind of resonating with Oliver at the start of the movie. If he were honest with himself, he could understand feeling like the left out, unloved, pathetic kid that was depicted before him. Not that anyone knew, but he had often spent his childhood wishing for an Artful Dodger to be his friend; waiting for a Nancy to give a shit about him. Then he realised over the years that he had become the Artful Dodger. Ever the influence on other people: his quirky personality drawing people in, his quick lip able to evade most trouble he got himself into, his cunning tongue able to charm most, his quick mind able to manoeuvre most situations. Yet, every time he watched Oliver singing in the cellar of the undertakers home, clutching the bars, asking _Where is love?_ , much to his complete fucking agitation he had felt like Oliver deep down inside again, far beyond his tough exterior. He felt completely fucking pathetic, the hidden knowledge that whilst he was living the façade of the Artful Dodger on the outside, in these times he felt like a child on the inside pining for some comfort and affection. It was easy to push away, fast forward, ignore.

This time, however, he felt different. The remote across the room, the song likely to be over by the time the butler came back, he had moved his tray aside, jumped across the room as he felt the same unusual pathetic tug of his insides that only few things would generate. However, with the second verse penetrating his ears, he felt different; remote in his hand, perching on the end of the bed as he paid attention to the scene before him for the umpteenth time.

**_Where is she? Whom I close my eyes to see. Will I ever know, The sweet hello, That meant for only me._ **

He was floored. Realising that he didn’t feel the overwhelming emptiness that usually hit when he heard that. He thought of her when he heard the lyrics. She was the one he seen who he closed his eyes. That he did now know the sweet hello that he fucking hoped was only meant for him.

Holy shit this was nauseatingly corny.

It was a fucking revelation that he had come to this point. That he had realised he had found what he had always been looking for. He had always thought of a mother when he heard the song; wishing for one, even if was an au pair. He never considered it could be a partner. Never considered that Gerri had just filled the void he had been craving since he was a kid. He knew he had felt different, that she had provided something wholesome that he couldn’t place, but he had always thought that uncertainty would linger within him forever. He didn’t think he would be sitting here, in a Plaza suite alone, on Christmas Eve, realising that for once in his sorry life, he felt whole.

He finds himself sitting grinning, looking at the tv like a sappy little cunt, listening to the remainder of the lyrics.

**_Let tomorrow be the day, when I see the face of someone who I can mean something to._ **

He finds his eyes tearing up, his stomach swirling, his chest constricting as the memories begin to flash in his mind of everything amazing she has done for him.

Her sitting on his knee last night, worrying her lip whilst handing him the contract to his dream house.

Sitting on the rock at the top of that Hawaiian mountain, watching the sunset. An outing she had specially arranged just for him so they could spend some time together.

Her cute face with her cream beanie and crinkled nose on the underground as she had kissed him publicly for the first time, her arm around his back; panicking as she had looked around after to make sure no one was watching. 

Lying between her legs in bed watching The Crown as she had run her hand through his hair, pecking the top of his ear every so often.

Her patience and careful attentiveness as she had guided him through intimacy, sex, making love like a normo.

Her soothing, calm voice as she had held him after the shitty panic attack on the yacht, promising not to leave him and assuring her support to help him through it.

Her soft hand caressing the back of his head as he had pushed his cheek into her silk pyjamas after his dad hit him in Argestes.

Her sound advice in Austria when she had advised him to undertake the management training programme.

Her challenging tone when she had promised to try and protect him even in the face of potential corporate manslaughter when he had royally fucked it with the launch.

She had given him everything he ever wanted. Someone to love him, help him, direct him in a positive direction, support him, care for him. She was everything. Absolutely everything.

And it made sitting here in this lavish hotel room really fucking shitty because whilst he was the envy of the world who would happily wish to be here, she wasn’t here, and he was all alone on Christmas.

He crawls up onto the bed, opening the phone to send her a text message.

**_Roman: Hey. How’s it going?_ **

He looks down at his phone, wondering if he should say exactly what he wants to say. Wondering if it was bad idea to put shit in writing, even if it was the burner phone. But he decided he didn’t fucking care.

**_Roman: I really fucking love you. I’m so thankful for you. Just wanted you to know that._ **

Holy shit, he felt pathetic. Like a little bitch girl. But he feels it. Feels like if he doesn’t tell her it, he’ll burst.

This stupid fucking movie man. He leans back into the huge pillows, phone sitting on his stomach, pressing the lock button every so often to make sure he hasn’t missed a notification as the movie starts getting a little more fucking upbeat.

The Artful Dodger finally making his appearance, being cool as fuck. He supposes he is kind of like Dodger. It’s not really a façade.

He finally feels a vibration.

**_Gerri: If this is a suicide message, can you wait until I’m back in New York because this dinner is enough for me to deal with._ **

He laughs looking down at it; ever the fucking sarcastic little bitch. The thought of her having a shitty time quickly wipes the smile of his face though.

**_Roman: No, not a suicide note. Just your doting servant. What’s going on?_ **

He’s beginning to worry now, checking his phone more often. It’s been 25 minutes and she still hasn’t responded. He hates when people do that. He responded within a fucking minute. What do people do, write a fucking message and then throw their phone out the window? It’s fucking infuriating. He tries to get into the music of the movie again, huffing as he looks down at the phone again when finally, he feels a constant vibration, sees her name appear, sees she’s calling.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I was beginning to worry. What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I only have a few minutes. We’re between starters and mains,” she grits out, before sighing. “It’s not going great.”

“Why?” He sits up, puts the movie on mute as she tries to concentrate on her voice, hearing the wind blow against her receiver.

“Everything. Maddie’s getting in little digs. Charlotte’s boyfriend’s an ass. It’s been a little tense. Thank god there’s wine and they aren’t on one of their health kicks or I might just have joined you in a suicide pact,” she groans, pacing up and down, her heels clicking against a patio as he smirks a little.

“Why’s Charlottes’s boyfriend an ass?”

“He’s one of those self-righteous assholes. Keeps talking about himself and his fucking job whilst Charlotte looks at him with fucking love heart eyes. It’s fucking nauseating,” she moans, as he stifles a laugh.

“Why, what does he do?”

“Corporate lawyer,” she says slowly, enunciating every syllable, and he can hear the eyebrow raise on the other end of the phone.

“The worst kind!” Roman declares sarcastically.

“Yeah. Little asshole thinks he’s the shit and keeps trying to correct me on things when I try and be _KIND_ , for the sake of Charlotte, and attempt conversation with him.”

“Does he? Like does he not know who you are?” He asks with a laugh.

“I don’t fucking know. He’s either trying to play who has a bigger dick or he’s just completely obtuse. I wouldn’t expect Charlotte to tell him to be fair. She never really put credence on those things. The little moron probably thinks I’m a lawyer for a little tavern in fucking Wisconsin or something. Though he can’t be that thick. We’ve been plastered in the media for months.”

“Pleeeasssseeee show him you have a bigger dick,” he laughs, crossing his legs excitedly.

“You fucking bet I will! I’ve dealt with bigger dick swingers than him and come out on top. But, it’s only a matter of time until he puts two and two together. Maddie’s digs are in reference to me being CEO.”

“What?” He asks confused, his face scrunching up. “Why would she make digs about that?”

“It’s more about my time being taken up now by OTHER things. The ‘well you would know that mother if you CALLED more often’. She’s even got a dig about being on the cover of Forbes. The usual hint that Waystar always comes before them,” she huffs continuing to pace.

“Bit harsh,” is all he can think to say.

“She’s upset,” Gerri excuses with a sigh. “She was probably expecting me to finally start winding down from Waystar by now, whereas I’ve gone and ramped it up. Another step towards putting more time into Waystar than into them.”

“I get that but like she should be proud of you and what you’ve achieved. You’re allowed to have ambitions. Like, does she not realise how good you are at your job?”

“She probably doesn’t want to think about it. It’s not a factor. There’s too much bad blood there. There’s still a lot of anger on her part. Thinking about it from my perspective would abate that anger she wants to fester.”

**He doesn’t know what to say. Would probably be just as big a brat if it were him. And then he doesn’t want to defend her by insulting her kid and calling her a little cunt for not being more understanding which is what he wants to do more.**

“I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t so shit,” he tells her sadly.

“I’m just so exhausted, Rome. So tired of moving one step forward with them and then three steps back without knowing. It’s like I need to constantly choose between one or the other. It’s been getting so much better in past years. I never thought she would take me becoming CEO so hard. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Well, has anything changed?” He challenges hesitantly. “Have you been like talking to them less or seeing them less or something?”

“Maybe I haven’t called them as much. I always prioritise answering their texts though. We rarely see each other though. The odd trip every so often. I did tell them it was going to be a little hectic for a while. Maybe they’re just afraid it’s going back to the old patterns,” she sighs, resigned.

“What old patterns?”

“Just me becoming engrossed with work. I’d been making a lot of effort to call them. Text them first and ask them how things were. Maybe I’ve been slipping,” she sighs heavily again. “I’m going to have to show them it’s not going back to the way it was.”

“Good plan, Stan,” he jokes as he hears silence on the other side of the phone. “Sorry I’m not more help. Not exactly my field of expertise with my fucked-up fam.”

“Just hearing your voice has been helpful, honey. I just needed a sounding board to help figure it all out,” she sighs though he can hear her smile. “I’m just too exhausted to have to fight for it all. I feel like I’m back at square one. I just wanted a nice, fun, relaxed holiday.”

**There’s something about Gerri offloading on him that he loves. That she trusts him enough to let loose about her family. That she chose him to offload onto.**

“I’m sorry it’s not that, babe. Wish I was there to cheer you up. Lighten the mood. Help you tag team the boyfriend,” he offers sweetly.

He hears her small laugh, music to his fucking ears.

“I wish you were too. I could use a bit of fun… and comfort,” she sighs.

**Fuck. If Gerri was admitting she needed some comfort, things had to be bad. He would need to up the ante.**

“I miss you,” he offers sincerely. “I’m in this shitty hotel wishing you were here, or I was there.”

“I wouldn’t say the Plaza is shitty,” she laughs as he ignores her.

“I’m just counting down the minutes until you call me later since I can’t be with you.”

“You saw me this morning,” she deadpans.

“I know,” he whines. “But still. It’s Christmas and shit. You’re there having a shit time. I’m here having a shit time. We could have been having a shit time together,” he jokes.

“How romantic,” she quips back, as he takes in the silence, trying to think of something else to say. “I miss you, too,” she beats him to it as he grins widely.

“Oh, I’ve gotta go. Charlotte’s waving me in through the window,” she whispers quickly.

“Where are you?”

“Freezing my ass off on the balcony,” she grits as he laughs.

“Okay. Go in. Call or text me if you need anything. I can send you a dick pic if you want something to laugh at,” he offers mock seriously, as she laughs.

“Please don’t. The last thing I need is to explain a dick pic to them.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will,” she agrees lightly.

“Love you,” he sighs.

“Love you, too,” she whispers before the phone hangs up.

He lies back, watching the silent television, watching as another dance number with all the boys breaks out as thinks of her up there feeling like shit.

He has a brain wave, unsure whether he should do it. Unsure whether she would be fucking livid. She had said that she had wanted it though? And he knew that he fucking did. Fuck it, he was going to do it.

**_Roman: Hey. What’s your hotel and room number? Want to send you a surprise._ **

He begins gathering his shit together, putting his shoes on, tying his shoelaces.

**_Gerri: Roman, please don’t. I’m fine. You’ve given me enough._ **

**_Roman: Look lady. We can do this the easy way, or I can call up your hotel and get it anyway._ **

**_Gerri: You don’t even know where I’m staying._ **

**_Roman: You said Four Seasons. I’m sure I can call all the ones around West Roxbury._ **

There is a small pause where he looks down at the phone, not even the little dots showing up as he holds his breath.

**_Roman: Come on. Let me do this for you._ **

**_Gerri: Four Seasons Hotel at One Dalton Street in Boston. Room 4402._ **

**_Roman:_** 😏😘

**_Gerri: Do not do something that’s going to draw attention or cost a small fortune. I mean it._ **

**_Roman: No promises._ **

**_Gerri: Roman._ **

Even only seeing his name, he can hear her warning tone, see her furrowed brow.

**_Roman: Can’t I cheer up my favourite person? It’s this or a voice note of me singing out of tune._ **

**_Gerri: You win this round. I’ll call you later. Need to go. They’re serving the main course._ **

He grins, jumping off the bed, dialling another number.

“Yeah, I need you to come get me ASAP. It’s an emergency,” he says before slamming the door behind him.

****

He’s sipping on the worst fucking coffee he’s ever tasted in his whole life. He had stopped off at a rest stop on the i-95, had had to fiddle trying to remember how to put gas in a car; had watched some dude with a beard somehow clip the nozzle in and jump back in his car to escape the cold. No matter how many times Roman had tried to somehow clip it in, it didn’t work. He just stood there let his hand fucking freeze until he had filled up the tank. Rob had warned him to make sure he filled it with premium, and he thinks that’s what he’s chosen? He had borrowed Rob’s car. Rob the only person he could think of that lived close enough and owed him a fucking favour. Rob owned several fucking cars so he thought he would likely give it up, and this big fucking Mercedes helpful in this shitty weather.

He didn’t want to drive. Didn’t mind doing it in the few fucking times he had to, but he would rather be on a fucking private jet, there in an hour instead of having to endure a nearly a 4-hour drive. However, he had had the unwelcome news that the blizzard had grounded all planes. Not enough money to convince anyone to let it happen, even if he could convince a pilot to take him on Christmas Eve. It had been 7pm by the time he had got the car off Rob and for once he hoped to god that Gerri stayed even longer at her daughters than rushing back to the hotel to watch movies with him.

He had obtained the stinking coffee from inside, had grabbed a bunch of chips and gum for the ride; had pumped his music up and whizzed the fuck out of there with a full tank; some change in his pocket for some toll that the app on his phone had warned him was apparently coming up when he got to the Massachusetts turnpike.

It had been almost two hours and he was almost halfway there, but the ride was proving much more fucking difficult than he thought. The snow was getting worse as he made his way through Connecticut, the roads becoming more slippery as it lay; not something he was accustomed to having never really had to drive a car. He’d driven more in the past two months than he had in the ten years before. Snow falling was definitely not his forte, but he wasn’t willing to slow down; not if he was to get there before she got back.

As the snow had become worse, he had moved to the radio; hoping to listen out for any alerts or warnings. Someone had to have crashed in this and he wanted to fucking avoid it. He didn’t drive all this way to wait in fucking bumper to bumper traffic through the night and freeze his ass off.

The radio was playing mainly Christmas songs: it was Christmas Eve after all. He barely paid attention to it, turned it down unless there was a bulletin; all of his concentration on trying to guide himself through the falling snow. She hadn’t messaged and thank fuck she hadn’t because he didn’t trust himself to text back, his fists tightly wrapped around the wheel, the windscreen wipers barely moving the snow to give him visibility, the car sliding a few times as he lost control.

It had got a little better the closer he had gotten to the city, the streets better maintained, the grit layed, the bustle of the city on Christmas Eve in the bars and pubs pretty loud. It had become a rat race to the hotel as Gerri had messaged him that she was on her way back. He chancing an emoji as he had driven into the city; throwing his keys at the valet when he had got to the Four Seasons and taking a seat in the bar so he could inconspicuously watch the door.

**_Roman: Did it get any better?_ **

**_Gerri: A little. Will explain when I call._ **

Not ten minutes after he had arrived does he see her stride in the front door through the lobby, allowing another five minutes before he decides to make his way up to her floor; the elevator ride taking forever as he climbs to the 44th floor.

He starts feeling a little nervous. Worried that he’s overstepped the mark. Worried that she might be angry. He supposes he could just sleep in another room if she was angry at him. At least she would be nearby. Maybe he could talk her around in the morning? There was no going back now anyway. He was exhausted from the journey and just wanted to lie in a heap with the smell of her surrounding him watching two burglars getting owned by a kid. There was no way he was driving back now.

When he gets onto her floor, his phone starts ringing, her name popping up.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” she responds with a huff, clunking in the background as she likely pulls her shoes off.

“How’d it go?” He asks as he walks through the corridors, looking for her room number.

“Not as bad. I realised after talking to you that maybe I had been a bit more absent. So, I loosened up and was up front about it. Played down the whole CEO thing and promised to do better.”

“Aww that’s cute. So, it got better then?” He says with a gulp as he finds the door he’s looking for, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “We had a bit of a tipsy chat. Maddie more forthcoming than Charlotte who didn’t seem to bother as much. They were like little kids again,” she sighs. “I do need to try and be better. How’s your night been?”

“Oh, it’s been… eventful,” he sighs as he closes his eyes tight and knocks the door loudly.

“Oh, really? Sorry honey, wait a minute. There’s someone at the door. Your surprise I take it?” she suggests with a small laugh as he hears her moving, both down the phone and through the wooden door.

When she swings it open, her face is a picture; her expression falling from a smile to her mouth parting open in shock. He lowers his phone with a wince, forcing a smile.

“Surprise,” he offers lightly.

“But you,” she looks down to her phone as he hangs it up. “How did you? What are you doing here?” She asks, her feet rooted to the spot as he looks up and down the corridor.

“Can I come in?” He asks reticently, putting his phone in his pocket.

She shakes her head trying to catch her bearings, moving to the side, revealing a large seating area as he walks in the door, looking around as he hears the door close firmly behind him.

“What are you doing here?” She asks again, her eyes wide when he looks back around to her.

“Don’t be mad,” he begins holding his hands up. “I just,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I was in the stupid hotel alone and watching Oliver and he sang the song and I thought about how I’m so glad you’re with me because like you give me all that,” he begins rabbling as her eyes squint trying to follow his train of thought. 

“Then you called, and you sounded so sad, and you said you wished I was there, and I already wished I was there. And I just wanted to make you feel better, and spend Christmas with you, but mainly make you feel better because I really love you. And you said that you just wanted some comfort and you never want fucking comfort so I knew you must feel like shit, but I don’t know how to like do that, especially over a phone, and I thought I could just come up here and give you like a big hug,” he shouts dramatically, his arms wavering in the air as he continues, “and watch the Home Alone movies with you, and make sure you were okay, and I could leave first thing in the morning, and you could go spend Christmas with your kids, but at least I would get to spend like a half hour with you on Christmas morning, and then drive back so I was back for dinner at my dad’s. Because I was going to be alone all night until you called, and then all tomorrow morning until like lunch time, and waking up next to you, and spending like half an hour with you in the morning would make all that so much fucking better to deal with,” he finishes, breathing heavily, looking at her worriedly as her face is unreadable.

“Roman,” she sighs, closing her eye, her fingers pinching her nose. “You didn’t have to come all the way up here because I was feeling a little shitty.”

“But I wanted to,” he protests.

“It’s a fucking blizzard out there,” she points angrily to the huge window showing the snow-covered city. “How did you even get the go ahead to fly?”

“I didn’t. I drove,” he explains softly.

“You drove up here in a blizzard?!” She shouts infuriated, her eyes becoming wider.

“I wanted to be here for you. Like you’re always there for me. I wanted to make you feel better,” he tells her simply as she sighs again.

“Roman,” she grits out frustrated, pacing up to him and grabbing his face to kiss him soundly, before pulling back quickly to look in his eyes as his hands go automatically to her waist. “What the fuck am I going to do with you? You can’t put yourself in danger like that for something so trivial!”

“It’s not trivial,” he protests as she sighs. “You needing some comfort isn’t trivial.”

“Roman,” she whispers frustrated, rubbing her thumb against his cheek.

“Are you mad I’m here? Do you want me to leave?”

She huffs again, moving her hands down to his shoulders.

“No, I don’t want you to leave,” she admits strained. “But I’m frustrated that you would put yourself in danger like that.”

“It was fine,” he promises as she shakes her head at him.

“What are you going to do if the blizzard gets worse? If you can’t get back home?”

“It’ll be fine!” He waves her off. “I can drive through the snow.”

“It might not be fine! I’m not letting you drive if it’s too dangerous.”

“Okay. Then I’ll get a room here and sit in it all day tomorrow.”

“On Christmas Day?” She asks incredulously.

“Yeah. Probably better than my dad’s anyway.”

“And how will you explain that to your dad?” She asks, an eyebrow arched.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, stroking her back. “Tell them I’m sick. Tell them I went on a bender and ended up in fucking Vegas. Tell them I’m in fucking Botswana taming a fucking lion. I don’t know. I don’t fucking care. This is all hypothetical anyway. It doesn’t fucking matter. I will deal with it if it comes.”

“It does matter, Rome.”

“I don’t think you get that I would rather be with you for thirty fucking minutes than be with them for hours. No matter what the outcome, waking up with you on Christmas morning leads to all outcomes being fine with me.”

“Rome,” she whispers more softly now before shaking her head, pressing her forehead to his, closing her eyes. “You sweet fucking pain in my ass. You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“In a good way?” He grins, pulling her closer, feeling the flesh around her waist.

“In the worst way,” she hits back sarcastically, pulling her forehead away from his.

“I just wanted to be here for you,” he whispers, moving closer to brush his lips against hers.

“But I sorted everything out with the girls. You didn’t need to come,” she brushes her lips back solidly against his when he tries to retreat, his aroma taking over her, his lips soft, his arms enclosed around her.

“I can leave,” he suggests whispering, kissing her more soundly now.

“Well you’re already here,” she mumbles against his mouth, her eyes closed, her arms wrapping around his neck. “We’ll never get to watch your movies if you drive back now.”

“I can get another room,” he offers as she pulls back looking into his eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She smirks as he moves to kiss her again whilst she responds eagerly.

_She’s astounded he’s here. Never ever would have expected him to show up at her door when she went through the rolodex of things he was ready to send to her door; flowers, chocolates, jewellery, a strip-o-gram, but not him. It really was sweet. And he hadn’t once suggested trying to push himself into her family Christmas or meeting her daughters or anything. He seemed to be learning her boundaries and what he could get away with. And this, wanting to be here to comfort her because she had uttered those dreaded words that she never usually would, that had just flown off her tongue accidentally the more exhausted she had felt. It was sweet. But then there was the truth of him wanting to just be here with her because he hadn’t wanted to be alone. She had worried about that, hadn’t seen a way around it. But he had sounded so convincing about the excitement of him going to the Plaza like he usually did; had almost sounded like a child when he had talked about it. It had abated her worries, she hadn’t thought he would become lonely after that._

_She was frustrated that he would put himself in danger like he had though; she never would have forgiven herself if something had happened. She would need to look up the weather in the morning to make sure he was safe to leave._

_But she had that feeling again like she had when she was in London. That feeling that this had been a very romantic gesture; something she usually rolled her eyes at, but with him had been so innocent and endearing. God help her, she was in love._

She pulls back from his eager lips, not wishing to get carried away, two full movies ahead of them.

“We’d better get your movies set up,” she decides as he frowns, his mouth red with her lipstick and his lips swollen. “But I want you to promise me something, first. Don’t ever put yourself in danger again for something like that, okey? Even if you want to surprise me. Ask yourself, is this a potentially dangerous or stupid idea, and if the answer is yes, then the rule is that you ask me first. That doesn’t just apply to ideas about me. That’s in everything,” she demands, finger grazing his jaw.

“Okay,” he gulps. “I promise.”

“Now, where’s this promised hug?” She smiles, as he grins, pulling her in tight, his head tucking into her neck as he wraps his arms around her back, her arms folding over his shoulders as she closes her eyes, takes exactly what she had needed when she had called him earlier. He sways them from side to side, breathing in the fabric of her dress as she plays with the hair at his nape, her lips caressing his neck, breathing him in.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispers with a kiss to his neck.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers back, tightening his grip around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the Christmas fluff I so desired and has been whirling in my head for months. Though it's not came out the way I wanted to, I needed it out of my head.  
> Hope you all had a great Christmas.


End file.
